Aftermath
by Spectering
Summary: Updated Summary: Donna knows that it's time to walk away. Harvey knows he just can't let her go. Takes place after 4x16
1. Numb

It's blinding cold outside.

He should have worn gloves.

That's his mantra as he makes his way towards the coffee cart guy, determined and pointed walk cutting off all the onlookers who know the secret and raising question to those who don't. The quiet busyness of the street illuminates in the setting sun, too late in the day for people to be going home from work and too early in the day for people to be filing out into the nightlife. He bites the bullet anyway, not really caring who or what sees, and crosses the street without so much as a glance behind him.

He's tripped up, hot under the brow and wrists seemingly tied, to what he doesn't know. The reality of the situation hasn't yet reared its ugly head, the tempestuous remainder of an unworked Saturday latching on to the unfathomable readiness to give up entirely and just head home. He wants to leave the aftermath to a later date as disorganization takes over his workspace without the promise of tidiness before his arrival come Monday morning.

He needs to find a replacement.

With that thought he nearly trips on the curb, his feet heavier than he remembers them being and the concrete leading to the sidewalk much higher than his memory obliges. Perhaps he'd had one too many scotches upstairs before deciding they didn't do enough numbing to appease him so it serves him right all in all. But that doesn't stifle the need to push his transgressions down, pressing a paperweight on them until he can battle those damned demons in the reverberation of the fall. It's still burning anyway.

Acquiring an ounce from the putz that is caddy-corner from the firm's front doors, he turns on his heels and returns to his most prominent home, forgets that the pristine condo he lives in alone even exists. What difference does it make? They're both made of glass anyway. It's that thought that brings him the cool night chill, the one that settles into his bones and brings the sweet sound of a muted symphony to his mind.

He's getting fucked up.

That'll make the silent symphony stop playing that detestable tune.

* * *

He struts into Jessica's office, ounce in his pocket, fingers cold and stiff as she sits on her couch nursing a presumably innocent cup of tea. He hadn't passed a single soul on his way to her office, but he had passed Donna's new home, still no sign of her move, and he thought of her for a moment too long. He finds the darkest corner in Jessica's couch so she can't see the tears welling in his eyes, vision blurred as his partner pours another cup of tea.

"I'd offer you a cup but I'm not really in a giving mood," she justifies.

He huffs then but not because he actually wants a cup. He feels the sentiments of her statement finding residence on his shoulders and he nearly laughs at the sardonicism of them converging here in this time, this place, for the same reason but not really the same reason. Meanwhile the only named partner absent is the one who has everything.

"Actually," he starts, guise of his remittal sleeping on his tongue, "I brought you a present for once."

She stares at him in _disbelief?_ like the notion is unheard of. He may not be notorious for his generosity, but his gifts are always exactly what happen to be needed when he does come allotting them. Jessica wavers in her posture and he supposes that she's bracing herself for a class 5 retcon.

"I'm almost scared to ask, Harvey," she admits. Her voice is tired like Jeff Malone took the life out of her. Harvey thinks that he'll kill Jeff with his bare hands.

He grunts as he fishes into his pocket for her belated breakup present and he tosses it onto the couch in the space between them. He says, "To take the edge off."

Harvey feels the older woman studying him for a moment like he's so far off the mark that she is actually thinking about peeling his name off of the wall. That would make for a great headliner _Best Closer in New York City Suffers Two of the Biggest Losses of His Career in a 24-hr Period_. He can see it now: no Donna, no firm, no point. He's never been a fan of threesomes and the last one directly correlates with either of the first two.

Jessica rolls her neck, settling her teacup onto the saucer then the pair onto the couch cushion beside the coffee cart guy's product. She looks like she's gearing up for something but he knows that it's a battle neither of them could be bothered to engage in at the moment. He supposes she could ask but then she'd actually get an answer. He really doesn't think she wants to know at the moment.

"You know what," he says suddenly, "Forget I was ever here."

He reaches for the ounce and pushes himself off of the couch when she says, "Sit your ass down, Boy."

"I thought you'd never ask," he replies, sorting through the contents of the bag. She lightly shakes her head and extends a hand. She's always been better at rolling the joint anyway.

* * *

In retrospect, the puff puff pass concept had been less than helpful in clearing his mind. He looks to his right at Jessica who is staring straight ahead. Her posture matches his but lacks the weight on her shoulders. He realizes then that all of her pain is internalized while his is essentially displayed for all to see.

They both have a piece of them missing, an obvious removal from the intricate workings of their everyday lives. Harvey supposes that Jessica's career doesn't hinge on her missing puzzle piece like his does, but it's left an ache in her heart that she doesn't know how to forget. He doesn't know how to admit that he's feeling the same way.

To think, the person he's always trusted and turned to in times of need has left him. Maybe he's been too stupid to notice that he's not given her as much as she's given him, but he wasn't really aware that she was discontented with their relationship until she was removing herself from it. It probably took some courage on her part, he gets that, but she's always been the strong one. She's been his ever-present guide in his working life, even his personal life at times.

The clarity comes in at the moment there's a loud noise outside of Jessica's office. He and his partner look at each other like they need reassurance the other actually heard the noise, perplexed and slightly paranoid. He lifts his hand to her gesturing for her to stay as he stands, leaving his suit jacket on the arm of the couch, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his vest still buttoned, and he ventures out into the hallway.

His feet carry him in the direction of the noise until he stops, stock still at the sight of red. Her red hair curtains her face from being seen, her jacket draped over the cubicle wall as she unpacks and moves about around her new room. He considers leaving her to it, letting her deal with the tragedy all on her own.

His judgment gets the better of him and he approaches the clattering, feet heavy on the floor as he shuffles towards her. He leans against the cubicle wall, hands wrapping around the felt on either side of her jacket, and looks at what she's doing. She's unpacking her box of things and it feels like a punch to the gut, the hardest he's ever been hit before.

"Hey," she says gently, not looking at him.

"Hey," he returns, the breath evading his lungs. He swallows. He tries to think of something he could say to get her to change her mind. Not even his love can keep her near. He says, "Do you need any help?"

She lifts her gaze to his then, her eyes as watery as his. She smiles carefully, like she's fragile, like she didn't expect to see him and wasn't quite prepared for this very moment. She lightly shakes her head.

His lips part in response, momentarily examining her cubicle and how different and out of sorts it looks. It doesn't look right, doesn't feel right. The walls are in all the wrong places and her desk faces Louis' office. Harvey thinks she deserves privacy, a guard to protect her from having to stare at Louis all day. He knows that they are friends, that they have a relationship that he doesn't understand and he's never tried to, but even he was kind enough to give her that luxury.

"What about your chair? Do you want me to grab that for you?" Her chin tilts downward as she continues unpacking her box – a few figurines, a picture of her nieces and nephews that she usually keeps hidden in a desk drawer beside the pictures they drew for her, her office supplies, the can opener. His eyes are burning, the muscles in his neck tensing because that's their thing and they're supposed to do it before every trial. "What about our pre-trial ritual?"

"You're not going to trial," she reaffirms, "But if you somehow find yourself facing that problem, come find me. We'll still do our thing."

"Thank god that's not over," he says. He hadn't even thought it before he'd said it. In fact, when his own voice reached his ears is the moment he realized the words were even coming out of his mouth. If it weren't for her sharpening gaze, he'd suspect that maybe he'd never really said it at all and he'd simply thought it. "I didn't mean to say that."

"You're high," she says with a small laugh, like it explains everything.

He shrugs with one shoulder. "Jessica needed a pick me up after the week she's had."

She nods knowingly but accepts his word as fact. She does this sometimes, allows him to deflect and shoulder the problem on someone else's shoulders. It tells him that it's still too fresh for her, if she's not ready to talk about it and she's going to give him a pass. She would usually press him where it hurts until he breaks, until he tells her everything she wants to know.

She places the can opener in the drawer beside the picture and the drawings, closing it and shutting away all of the things she has in her life but doesn't want to deal with. He wonders if the can opener represents him now, if it's always represented him. He really doesn't want her to put him in a drawer and hide him away.

"Harvey," she says then.

His name on her lips is more non-committal than he wishes it were. He knows she isn't going anywhere with it, that she's trying to be sensitive to the situation that cuts them both deep. They lock eyes again and she nearly loses it right then. He swallows to hold himself together.

He does something to distract himself, to distract her, from the abrasiveness of the moment, and reaches into his pocket for his phone. He says, "I'm hungry. Are you hungry? I'll order from that shitty Thai place you like."

"I think," she starts, hesitates for a moment too long for his liking and he knows then that she's slipping right through his fingers; she swallows, brushes her hair out of her face, and says, "It's probably best if we don't do this tonight with you stoned and me, well, I wish I had a drink-"

"I have some of that, too, you know," he interjects. Her mouth closes as she nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Harvey," she says so softly that he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him, "We shouldn't. The wounds are still fresh. Let's not pour salt on them just yet."

"You're right," he says. He forces a smile onto his face and lightly taps on the plastic of her cubicle wall. He puts his phone back into his pocket and pushes back onto his heel, putting some distance between them. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"You'll be the first person I call," she replies.

He finds himself praying to a god he isn't even sure exists that it's the truth.

* * *

He goes back to his office and pours two glasses of scotch in hopes that she'll change her mind when she sees him. He sees her moving down the hall, her jacket draped over her arm, her black pants tight on her legs and her top swinging with every calculated step she makes. He goes to the doorway of his office, a glass in each hand, and leans against the thin transparent wall there.

She sees him and slows her strut, her confidence wavering. She stops, her heels digging into the bouncy carpet about fifteen feet away. He hears her sigh in resignation as she closes the gap between them. He extends the glass of scotch to her, a good three feet between them, and she takes it. Wordlessly, she slips passed him into his office and he follows closely behind her.

She tilts the glass in his direction in a symbolic cheers motion and takes a drink from it. He follows her lead and takes a drink from his own glass, the scotch sticking to his tongue and not quite quenching his cottonmouth. He removes the glass from his slightly parted lips and dangles the remainder of it between his fingers, his hands falling to his side. She hugs the glass to her face.

She says, "You're going to be okay, Harvey."

He expels a breath through his nose, fixing her with his gaze, his jaw clenching as he silently disagrees with her. He isn't going to be okay. She is his everything and now he doesn't have her anymore. Maybe she's giving this to him, this non-working evening where they happen to be in the same place at the same time like fate tricked them into being together. How is he supposed to go on?

"You're just right down the hall," he reasons. She takes another gulp of the amber liquid; her glass appears large in her hand like it doesn't belong. Maybe she's never really belonged in this office, in this space, ten feet away. He's never really been able to give her what she needs. "I hope Louis treats you better than I did."

"I never really knew I wanted you to," she says. Her admission echoes in his hazy brain, piercing his heart with brevity, and he feels like a switch has flipped inside of him. She hasn't been pining for him, not consciously, she's just been prioritizing him and she isn't going to be doing that anymore. She nods slowly. "I should go."

She sets her glass down on the coffee table and moves to leave, but he can't let her. He reaches out with his left hand, his fingers tight together as he lightly touches her wrist. She stops beneath his touch, his left shoulder lining up with hers. He doesn't know what to say to make her stay, to make her stop leaving him.

He tilts his chin downward, his lips pursed tightly together as his gaze lines up with hers. Her eyebrows knit together and he knows she's doing two things at once: questioning him and challenging him. He absently licks his lips, eyes tracing her face in an attempt to remember her in this moment, vulnerability in her expression. He swallows and closes the space between them.

He kisses her then, her lips slightly parted like she was expecting him to do anything but that, and her mouth moves on autopilot. He drops the glass in his hand, moving it to cup her cheek, and deepens the kiss. She places her hand against his chest but doesn't push him away. His tongue flits out against her lip, sliding over the surface until her tongue touches his. She tastes like scotch and raspberries.

It's then that she pulls away and he thinks she must have the good sense to know when enough is enough. She tilts her gaze away from his, hand rising to her lips. She pushes her palm across her mouth, wiping away the remnants of him. He looks to the floor at the spilled liquid staining the carpet. He can't look at her, can't utter a word.

So she does it for him. She says, "I have to go."

All he can do is look at her retreating form.

* * *

He doesn't know why he kissed her.

In the moment, it didn't even seem like the best idea, he just didn't know of any other way to make her stay. He's hurt and angry. It's taking everything in him to keep from showing his ass but he knows being a dick to her won't accomplish anything. It will only succeed in pushing her away, which is the last thing that he wants.

He follows her path to the elevator lobby, limbs heavy and thoughts still fuzzy. He thinks of her red hair following close behind her with every step she had taken, rightfully running away from him. The memory of her appearance fades into the shadows of the dim lights, engulfing her as the night takes her away from him.

He doesn't know what he's expecting to find when he does make it to the elevator, but she's already gone, carried far away from him. He doesn't know when he'll see her again, doesn't know what to say when he does. He gives up retracing her steps, returning back through the path of long hallways towards Jessica's office.

He pauses at Donna's new desk. Everything is placed just so how she likes it, but it looks dull like she doesn't deserve to live there – like no one deserves to live there. He thinks that maybe flowers could bring a familiarity, a breath of life. He remembers the cactus sitting on the island in his kitchen at home. He could return the favor.

He pushes the thought away and continues to Jessica's office. He rounds the corner though and spots her sprawled out on her couch, using his jacket to shield her arms from the breeze. He allows it thinking that her loss has taken everything out of her, that he can relate to how she feels now more than ever.

He retires to his own office, to his own couch where he leaves all of his messes for tomorrow.


	2. Defintion

Harvey comes in early on Monday morning, walks right into the situation that makes him feel like he's been hit by a truck. There is a vase on her desk, in her old cubicle, with a collection of boisterous flowers in shades of white and pink with wide openings. They scream life, exactly like he'd wanted, but they didn't make it to the right desk so the ambiguity of the act is lost.

He sucks in a deep breath and grabs the vase with 2 hands, a half hour leeway to get away with generosity without scrutiny. He nearly retreats when he sees her already sitting at her desk, clicking away on the mouse while she stares at the computer screen. He thinks that at least Louis isn't in yet; at least he can get away with that. With a quick look into Louis' office, he notes that the sun shines brighter on this side of the building and it's blinding in the most annoying of ways. Fits Louis' aesthetic to a T.

"Hey," he says gently. She looks up at him from her task. Before she can reply, she spots that his hands are full and can't formulate a sentence. Rendering her speechless _is_ his favorite thing to do. He sets the vase down on her desk and takes a step to the left so the flowers aren't blocking his view of her. "These were delivered to the wrong desk, sitting at your old desk when I came in."

It hurts more just saying it aloud.

"I'm sorry," she says, her words accompanied with a nod, "I will inform the front desk of the change immediately. So it doesn't happen again."

"I'll do it," he says with a shrug. Her gaze sharpens on him, studying him like she doesn't believe him. He supposes that if he were going to lie, he should probably pick someone who doesn't actually know when he's lying. "…Anyway."

"Thanks for bringing these to me," she replies.

He clamps his mouth shut and nods in return. He can feel the muscles in his jaw tighten, the tendons in his neck straining as he takes a step back. He hopes later in the day she'll find the card and think nothing of it.

He signed the card: _To bring life_.

* * *

Her desk remains empty all day – phone going unanswered, desk staying unorganized.

He never made the call to inform of the switch, which would have ultimately landed him a new secretary, a temp at least. He doesn't think it's fair to place that responsibility on Donna. After all, she'd wanted out and doesn't want to prioritize his work anymore. He certainly doesn't deserve her working on his behalf without any of the benefits anymore.

It all started with Mike bombarding him, like he'd expected, about whether Donna was sick or something, why her desk looked so…bare. Harvey had ultimately settled on closing his office door to keep out the sound of the telephone ringing, to keep out his blissfully annoying associates who couldn't help making googly eyes at one another. He didn't even have it in him to acknowledge the engagement ring he'd spotted on Rachel's finger, feigning a congratulatory moment just isn't in him.

Delivering the flowers on Donna's desk to her first thing in the morning is by far the easiest thing he's had to do all day. At least then he'd gotten a good look at her attire to know that at least her fashion sense remains intact. Her blue, shimmering dress still reflects the suit he'd chosen to wear that day as though they color coordinated.

He spends all day staring at the stain on the floor.

* * *

There's a firm knock on his front door. It feels like the first time he's been home in 6 days – how did anyone find him? He sets his glass down on the counter beside the cactus and goes to answer the door, the knock echoing down the hallway again. He opens the door to reveal the last person he'd expected.

"Donna? What are you doing here?" He asks.

She probably got tired of waiting for him to go to her.

She barges in, her heels replacing the echo of the knocks as she carries her purse at her side and heads towards the living room. She doesn't actually acknowledge him until she's placed her purse on the counter beside the glass and the cactus. She turns on her heel, looking him with the gravest of looks he's ever seen on her face.

"You kissed me," she says. He nods slowly. "Why?"

"I," he stutters, words faltering as he looks her up and down. Her skin glows in the lighting of his apartment, distracts him from whatever reason he could give her. Her purple dress must be Vera or Valentino or Karin because it's quality, it soaks in the light as she peels off her coat. He hopes she's staying a while. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Answer the question," she replies.

He feels so inadequate in his black sweatpants and gray t-shirt. He nods and goes to a cabinet to get a glass out of it. He grabs a wine glass off of the shelf and pulls the wine plug out of the bottle, pouring her a glass. He slides the glass across the counter in her direction.

"I don't know," he admits. "I didn't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything, Harvey. Don't just kiss me," she says, nearly screaming at him, "I can't believe you keep doing this to me."

"I'm sorry," he says without hesitation.

She sighs then. He watches her fingers as they flex like she's about to murder him, like she's about to wrap her fingers around his neck and strangle him to death. One time, Donna would have smiled when he apologized. Today, his apology means nothing.

"You can't kiss me. And you can't give me flowers," she says. He steps towards her but she steps back. He just wants to make her feel better. "It's inappropriate. You're being inappropriate, Harvey. You don't have feelings for me so stop sending me the wrong message."

"I gave you flowers because I was trying to be nice," he argues.

"You really are an idiot," she says.

She laughs then like he's being ridiculous and he supposes that she has a point, that he is an idiot and that he should know better. He needs to explain himself. He needs to suck it up and tell her what he's thinking so maybe she will give him a pass.

"I'm trying to be supportive," he says, "I don't want to push you away."

"I left so that I can figure out what I want with you, if I'm okay just working with you or if I really want more. And with the way you've been behaving, maybe you need to figure out what you want with me, too," she says.

"Donna," he says. She steps back, putting more distance between them. He inhales a sharp breath, the idea of watching her walk away from him again making the air evade him. "Donna, I can't keep watching you walk away from me."

"I'm just giving us time to think," she replies. She grabs her jacket and her purse, leaving the glass of wine he'd poured for her, and steps towards him. Draping her purse over the arm that has her purse, she looks like she's telling him goodbye. He tightens his jaw, forcing himself to keep his mouth shut. She places a hand on his chest and lightly kisses his cheek. "Don't make this separation harder than it already is."

She pats his chest and turns on her heel to walk away. He's watching her retreating form again. Everything inside of him screams at him to stop her but he doesn't even know what he can do or say to show her that he cares. It's all unraveling right before him, and he's losing everything.

"Please," he says, "Don't."

He hears the front door shut behind her and the weight settles on him; he has some thinking to do.

* * *

Harvey decides to go see the only person he loves left in his life, Marcus. Maybe seeing Marcus will give him so clarity, some kind of realization that all he's been doing is jerking Donna around, and he will know exactly what he wants. He's never been very good at analyzing his personal relationships, and that isn't something he's ever had to do with Donna.

He ignores calls from Jessica, from Mike, even one from Rachel and whoever is sitting at Donna's old desk. He doesn't really feel like talking to anyone until he has a little bit more clarity and he doesn't know what that will take. All he knows is that he isn't the only one doesn't know what they want, and he finds a little comfort in that.

The train ride is a long one, gives him too much time to reflect.

His cheek still burns from where she kissed him.

He keeps ignoring the calls coming in and doesn't really know what it'll take for him to answer any of them. He supposes that if Donna calls he will pick up, but she needs time to figure out what she wants so she probably isn't going to call. Maybe she doesn't even care anymore. Maybe she won't call after all.

He absently taps out a rhythm on his thigh, one of his dad's old favorites. He doesn't have anyone he trusts anymore, anyone's opinion that matters to him more than anyone. If he doesn't have Donna, what does he have?

Amazing how he could go from having everything to nothing in an instant.

* * *

Harvey clutches his duffle bag in one hand and knocks on the door with his other. Marcus and his wife, Kim, live in the house he grew up in with their 2 kids. The outside has been painted since he last saw it, a light blue finish with tan gutters and frames, but it's still recognizable. A hatchback Honda sits in the driveway, black varnish and it looks brand new.

The door swings open and Marcus stands there stunned for a moment before he quickly recovers. Marcus looks surprised and happy to see him, which is more than Harvey can ask for. All he's done lately is drive the people he loves away. Marcus reaches out and slaps Harvey on the back, pulling him in.

"Hey, Harv, what are you doing here, Brother?"

"I don't know," he replies, "I just needed to get out of the city."

"I was just about to leave," Marcus says then, "Baseball practice is in twenty minutes. You wanna come?"

"Okay," Harvey answers with a shrug.

"Great. Let me grab my keys," Marcus says, gesturing up the stairs, "I'll be right back."

"Sure."

Harvey watches his brother climb the stairs and all Harvey can think about is the way it looks when Donna walks away, the ache that stirs within him. He weighs down the ache with more painful memories that only this house can bring. He discards his duffle bag and his laptop bag at the bottom of the stairs just as the sound of a herd of animals begins to descend the stairs.

At least some things never change.

"You're going to go straight through one of those floor boards one of these days," Harvey says.

"You've said that since we were kids and you're still not right," Marcus counters with a grin. Harvey admires his brother's carefree demeanor, the way he seems to have no worries in the world, and he almost feels jealous of the way Marcus doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. The things he could do if he didn't have to worry. "And now there's two of me toppling down those stairs."

"Garret?"

"Kim's always yelling at us to slow down," Marcus says, turning off the lights as though on autopilot. Harvey thinks about reminding him that if he just did it as he left rooms then it would cut the process in half, but instead he reminds himself that it's Marcus' house now. "The kids are going to be happy to see you."

"They won't even recognize me," Harvey says.

He scuffs his shoes on the floor as Marcus turns off the television thinking that he hasn't seen Garret and Jackson since the yearly stop into town on the anniversary of their father's death – once a year probably doesn't paint a good picture in regards to their uncle. Especially on that day of the year as he can be closed off and guarded to anyone who dares to cross paths with him. He's polite and considerate, relatively anyway, but by the time he sees them he has one foot out of the door because he doesn't want to miss the last train.

"Give them some credit," Marcus says then, ushering Harvey out of the front door. Harvey buries his hands in his pockets to keep them busy, his khaki pants chafing the tops of his hands as he bounces from foot to foot while his brother locks the door. "They know who you are. You always bring them presents when you see them."

"I don't have any gifts this time," Harvey replies, pulling his hands back out of his pockets and holding them up defensively.

Marcus laughs as the door latches. He turns on his heel and jumps off of the porch before heading towards his car. Harvey chooses to take the stairs, following Marcus towards the Honda.

"They'll get over it," Marcus says, "How long are you staying for?"

"I'm not sure yet," Harvey replies. He moves around the car to the passenger side. The wind is chillier outside of the city, Harvey thinks as the gusts push at his hair. He adds with a shrug, "A few days, if that's okay."

"Everything all right?" Marcus asks as he unlocks the car and gets behind the wheel.

"Yeah," Harvey replies absently, his mouth moving faster than his brain always on the mission to convince everyone that he's okay. He gets in the car. As Marcus fires the vehicle up, Harvey sighs. He lightly shakes his head then in protest of himself. "Actually, no, Marcus, I don't think it is."

"Want to talk about it?" Marcus asks, throwing the car into reverse.

"I think I fucked up," Harvey says.

The car lunges forward and he sighs again, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. He fishes the offending disturbance out of his pocket prepared to ignore it when he notes it's a text from Mike. _If you're sick, I can bring you some chicken noodle soup_. Harvey doesn't text back.

"I doubt it's anything you can't fix," Marcus says reassuringly.

Harvey shrugs then, conceding to silence. Marcus doesn't press any further for answers, for some kind of conversational explanation of why he's there. Maybe his brother trusts that it'll come out at some point. Harvey doesn't know that it will.

He can't believe he told her that he loves her and she left him. He doesn't understand why, after everything they've been through, she would. Does she not see that he's always fought tooth and nail for her? That he'd give it all up if it means she's safe? She has to know that she means more to him than anyone and no one could ever replace her. The thought of seeing her with someone else turns his insides – Louis Litt is a lucky man for Donna Paulsen to choose him.

Harvey's hands shake, clasped together between his legs, with anger, with regret.

* * *

Harvey measures the steps from the edge of the bed to the bedroom door. He's bothered by how non-symmetrical the bedroom is. Old haunts litter the bedroom like the memories are fresh. Dust and familiarity sticks to his skin, a past he's spent his entire adult life burying with achieved goals are resting at every crevice of the bedroom.

The walls are lined with pictures of him and Marcus, of their parents, of their childhood and accomplishments. Old trophies sit on shelves, his dad's old records, his dad's saxophone resting in the corner like Marcus and Kim have childproof locks on the door. Everything looks untouched, like a shrine to their former life. He'd had no idea before this moment that Marcus and Kim preserve the memory of his naive boyhood.

And yet, he finds it all extremely unsettling. The dark eyes of a woman who essentially ruined him staring at him from afar, digging into his bones and taking up residence there like he has some kind of habitability resting inside of him. He doesn't. Everyone leaves him because he is cold and distant, because he holds his truths close to his chest and spews the lies that people want to hear from him.

He lied to Scottie when he made her believe he loved her. He lied to Donna when he made her believe he didn't. He's a liar and a cynic and he has nothing when he used to think he had everything.

The ghost of childhood's past looks him dead in the eye in that moment as he peels off his coat and rests it on the foot of the bed. He's a visitor in a place he used to call home yet one room in the house at least remains as he's always remembered with just a few minor details exchanged from various rooms. It stings but not as bad as the memory of watching Donna walk away.

So he leaves the memoirs in their wake in search of his younger brother, all grown up into a man, into a father that their father could be proud of. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs Kim points to the front door and Harvey nods his acknowledgement. He finds his brother has become a victim to the night, the cold chill of early spring wrapping around them with such fortitude that Harvey can't even fend off the goose bumps that coat his skin upon contact.

Just last week it was snowing.

Harvey shuts the front door behind him, securing it into place, and blocks the light from the porch as he hovers over his brother sitting on the top step. Marcus turns slightly to cast Harvey a glance before scooting over to make room. Wordlessly, Harvey takes a seat beside Marcus, their knees bumping together.

When Harvey is semi-comfortable, he says, "You kept Dad's room the same."

"Some of that stuff was in other rooms of the house before we put them in there," Marcus replies with a grin. Harvey's phone rings in his pocket again and he outwardly growls in response. He stretches his legs out to dig his phone out of his pocket. He sends the call to voicemail. "Are you ever going to answer that thing? It's been going off all day."

"I don't feel like talking to anyone," Harvey says with a shrug, "Nothing to say."

"You sure about that? Because you've been sulking around all day like something is on your mind," Marcus says.

"I'm not ready to talk to anyone about it," Harvey mutters.

"Look, Brother, I'm glad you're here but you really need to talk to someone about what's going on in that head of yours," Marcus says, shifting his gaze towards Harvey, "You've always shouldered everything and you shouldn't have to. You gotta let someone in."

"I did," Harvey says gently, pulling his knees up to his chest and crossing his arms before he leans against his knees there, "I let her in and she left me."

"You're a great guy, Man. It's her loss," he says.

Harvey feels the pressure of losing Donna all over again. He blinks rapidly trying to keep the tears at bay, the memory of her walking away replaying for the umpteenth time. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, wishing that he believed his brother. The only thing that's ever made him great is her.

Harvey lightly shakes his head and says, "I have to get her back."

He only wishes he knew how he could get her back. He didn't even make it through the first week without her and all he's been able to think of her. He needs to figure out where he went wrong, how he managed to lose her in the first place.

* * *

The old mattress hurts his shoulder.

The pain isn't even what keeps him up half of the night.

He realizes in his fit to get comfortable that he probably went wrong years ago when he sat across from her at the diner not quite saying the right words. He's never quite said the right things to her even when he thought he was. He doesn't want to her, he's never wanted to lose her and he thought he'd been doing everything he possibly could to keep her from leaving.

He thinks about how he concedes to her, respects her, loves her according to the rules that she's defined. He thought he was respecting her by following her sleeping with coworkers rule, the rule that she bent for a man she barely knew but wouldn't bend for him. His admiration of her has in turn been from afar while he's watched subpar men like Stephen Huntley sweep his existence under the rug to win her over.

He admitted then to being bothered about their torrid affair while still attempting to be okay with her efforts to have a life of her own. Maybe if he had understood then what he understands now, that the feeling of her moving on makes him want to tie weights to ankles and jump into the Hudson River, he would have fought differently. He knows that's a little drastic, but watching her flourish has always been a luxury that was his own and didn't belong to anyone else.

And he's angry, angry that he has to do it without her. There isn't anyone he trusts like he trusts her. Even now when she's left him, he still trusts her completely. She's always prioritized him and he didn't do a very good job at returning the favor. He loves her but he's never really allowed himself to imagine being in love with her. But if the way he feels is what being in love feels like then he isn't sure he's spent time accurately preparing himself for this. He didn't know it was love. He didn't know that the thought of being without her making him weak could translate into love. He didn't know that love was completely dependent.

He should have known that needing her would mean that he loves her – she should have known that it means he loves her.

She should have known.

* * *

He picks up the pace of his run, his sweat dripping down his spine and gathering at his collarbones. He passes the familiar places he'd passed when he was a kid – the mom and pop grocery store on the corner long since closed and boarded up with a for lease sign out front, his dad's favorite diner with a few cars out front, the mini-golf course that was abandoned from lack of customers. He runs faster when he sees his high school girlfriend's house, no longer able to remember her name or her face, only seeing Donna instead.

It makes him angry, thinking of her. He knows why she left, to protect herself, to try to move on, to put some distance between them to figure out where their love lies. He doesn't like the position she put him in. Now he thinks about what the idea of 'everything' actually is and he can barely look anyone in the eye.

She clouds his thoughts and some moments he understands her leaving, other moments he doesn't understand how she could do such a thing. He needs something to drown out his thoughts, to make him forget her, as if he could. He wishes he wasn't thinking about her constantly, about the way that he so desperately wishes he could give her everything she wanted if he even knew what that is.

He slows to a halt about a mile from his childhood home and takes his phone out of his pocket. The time on the screen reflects it's still before 7 but he needs answers, he needs to know what she wants from him. He dials her number, gasping for breath from his run as the ring echoes in his ear.

He stands up straight when he hears her voice on the other end, her gravelly "_Hello?_" doused in confusion.

"Donna," he says sharply, "What do you want from me?"

"Where the hell are you? Everyone was trying to get ahold of you yesterday," she says in response.

His sigh expels laughter and he shakes his head. He says, "Not everyone."

"That isn't fair, Harvey. You're not my boss anymore," she counters.

"I'm clearing my head," he says in a way of explanation. It's all she needs to know to understand what he actually means. He hears her oust a breath like she's trying to steady herself on the other end. He clears his throat. "What do you want from me, Donna?"

She doesn't say anything and it makes him mad. She's always demanding answers from him but when it boils down to the moment he asks the same of her she refuses to comply. He's always tried to please her in his own way but she deflects in her quite endearing manner that by the time he realizes what she's doing, he's already entranced by her.

"Just answer the damn question," he barks forcefully. He paces in front of his first girlfriend's home like he's reliving the past.

"I can't," she yells back, "I don't know what I want from you, Harvey."

"I need you," he replies, much calmer than moments before.

"Need me how?" She presses.

He huffs then, squatting into a makeshift sitting position. He says, "I don't know."

"So we're at the same page, just on different books," she says.

He's confused. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," she says, words sharp and languid, "We don't know what we want from each other and this conversation isn't worth having until we do know."

"Why'd you leave?"

"I can't keep putting you first, Harvey. I've lost myself and I need to remember who Donna is," she says. She sighs and he feels her annoyance in his joints. He opens his mouth to retort but he no longer knows how to formulate any sentences. He wants to tell her that he knows who she is, that she's wonderful and amazing. But he doesn't. "Listen, I have to go, Harvey. I'll let everyone know that you're okay and to give you some space. That should give you a couple of days. But at least let Jessica know what you're up to."

He stands up then, stretching his legs out. He nods before he realizes she can't see him. He says, "Have a good day, Donna."

It sounds so formal, like they're strangers. He hates it. She says, "You, too, Harvey."

The call has barely disconnected when he's throwing his phone on the ground as hard as he can and it shatters. The glass screen becomes an intricate web keeping him from everyone he knows, the web feeding off of his hurt and anger of being left by the only person he cares about more than himself. He wants to cry but he won't.

Caring never got him anywhere anyway.

He just thought she was different.

Boy was he wrong.

* * *

Harvey goes to his father's grave. It's a little off the mark of the anniversary, the yearly visit, but it's long overdue. He's spent most of his adult life discussing major issues with two people: his father and Donna. He doesn't have either one anymore, but at least he can still use his father as a sounding board. Well, a representation of his father anyhow.

So he hits up a liquor store and buys two bottles of the most expensive scotch before heading to the cemetery. He supposes that no one other than Donna would know where to find him and he hates her a little bit for knowing him so well and leaving him so high and dry, out in the cold to fend for himself. Donna betrayed him. _No, betray is probably a strong word_, he thinks as he enters the cemetery.

Can he really call it a betrayal if she was doing what she believed was right for her? That would make him an asshole for thinking that he's more important than she is. He's not. He knows he's not, but she's always had his best interest and he supposes he just started to rely on that. He returned the favor, or so he thought. He thought he aligned their interests, but he must have been wrong all that time.

He thinks this is the worst break up he's ever been through and they weren't even together. He always just thought they were platonic. Not platonic. They were never platonic.

From the moment he saw her he was attracted to her and that never changed, he just respected her and wanted to keep her around so he shut that part off because he couldn't have both. She made it clear that he couldn't have both so he picked the one that he knew would keep her around because he, undoubtedly, would have fucked up if they were in a relationship. He's always been very clear about the way he values her above everyone else and no one has ever questioned him on it.

When he finds his father's grave, the wind biting his neck, he opens the bottle of scotch and take a long swig of it. He didn't bring shot glasses this time as the tradition calls for, but he's not in the mood for tradition. Everything he's grown accustomed to is shot to shit anyway. He leans back against the headstone and slide down to the ground, balancing the neck of the bottle in his grasp. The burn etches against his throat and his stomach is met with intense warmth.

"I fucked up, Dad," he says, lifting the bottle towards his mouth. He perches the opening between his lips and takes another drink. Swallowing, it stings and he hisses. "I just watched her walk away, over and over and over and there wasn't anything I could do to stop her."

He shakes his head, pressing the knobs of his elbows against the knobs of his knees, and takes another drink from the bottle. The Macallan is already a third of the way gone. The glass from the screen of his phone digs into his leg and he regrets breaking his phone then, regrets cutting himself off of the only way to contact her.

"You were always right about Donna, you know. She's amazing but she's too good for me," he says then, peeling at the label on the bottle, "She deserves everything and I can't give that to her. I've been such an idiot. I've been thinking we have everything all this time, I thought it was enough because I thought it was what she wanted, but I guess it wasn't. I don't have her anymore. I have nothing."

He feels the tears well in his eyes again. He feels like he can't even identify his emotions anymore, going from angry to sad and back again like a never ending sonnet about love and love lost. If he feels like he has nothing without Donna, then why wouldn't he be willing to risk everything to be with her. He'd never realized that she is everything to him, not to the capacity that she is, that he could never love and trust anyone else the way he does her. She is the only companion he's ever wanted and if he can't even love her for that then how is he ever meant to love anyone.

He's always just thought love was fleeting and what he has with Donna is better.

"She waited for me for so long and I never knew," he says.

He leans his head against the marble then, taking another large drink from the bottle. It was going to be gone in no time. Then what would he have to show for all his time spent? A hangover and that's about it.

He gets his phone out of his pocket and types out a text, his fingers stinging against the sharp edges.

All it says is, _I wish I would have known._


	3. Factuality

This is what Harvey walks in on: two people in love, listening to old familiar records, dancing around the living room of a home that he used to know.

He immediately regrets barging in on the scene as Marcus and Kim swing their hips at a comfortable rhythm, not quite matching the rhythm of the music. They are slightly out of sync, the innate motion showing their compatibility with each other more than their ability to match a record that Marcus should know by heart. So, instead, he lingers awkwardly in the entryway, his drunken state of mind not taking him out of his body enough to feel displaced.

He stutters in his step, his balance off kilter as his fingertips tingle from the bottle of scotch consumed just a few hours before. He plants his feet on the floor and focuses on standing upright. He doesn't even remember how he got home at the moment.

"Harv," Marcus says, loudly.

Harvey widens his eyes before blinking a few times and tilting his chin in the direction of his younger brother; he says, "Hey."

"Come 'ere," Marcus says, motioning him in their direction. Harvey stumbles. Marcus parts from Kim just quick enough to catch him. "Whoa. You all right, Man?"

"Yeah," Harvey replies, "Great."

"Here, Kim's going to help you out for a sec while I get you some water," Marcus says.

Harvey nods but it makes him a little dizzy. Kim, a woman shorter than Donna is without heels, loops her hands under his arms and keeps him moving. Harvey offers her a tight smile then, taking one of her hands in his and settling his other hand on her hip. Marcus rounds the corner to the kitchen then.

"I'll teach you the proper way to dance," Harvey slurs.

"Okay," Kim says, following his lead.

He sways from side to side, taking a step back on occasion, until he bumps into the coffee table. The noise must scare Kim because she loses her grip on him. Harvey nearly topples to the floor then, barely able to keep his balance. He presses his hand against the tabletop to keep him from collapsing onto it.

"Sorry. Shit. Sorry," he mutters.

"I've got you," Marcus says, handing Kim the glass of water with one hand and swooping the other under Harvey's arms. Marcus lightly shakes his head and laughs, guiding Harvey to the nearest chair. "What's got you all fucked up, Brother?"

Harvey jumps as Kim's hand collides with Marcus' chest. He wasn't expecting that movement and he can't even get his thoughts straight. He spent 3 hours talking himself in circles in a cemetery. He came here for clarity but he can't even get his own thoughts straight. He takes the proffered glass of water from Kim and takes a drink. Once he's swallowed it, he sets the glass down on the table.

He releases a heavy sigh then and he says, "Donna."

"Donna?" Marcus repeats slowly.

"She quit," Harvey says, "I hate her."

"No you don't," Marcus disagrees.

"No, I don't," he says as he pushes himself to his feet, "I don't hate her. I love her."

"Maybe we should get you upstairs so you can sleep this off," Kim suggests.

"Yeah, it'll pass," Harvey agrees.

He lets Marcus help him upstairs to his father's old bedroom where the pictures of his childhood stare at him. He kicks off his shoes by the door and takes his pants off, but can't be bothered to undress any more than that before crawling into bed. If Donna could see him now, she would tell him he's an idiot and that he needs to get his shit together.

_Donna would be right_, he thinks.

Marcus leaves him alone with his thoughts, with the benevolent dictatorship that the absence of his long time secretary suddenly has over him. He's always thought the phrase benevolent dictatorship is contradictory, that one cannot be a kind totalitarian, a tyrannical power that wards control and cruelty over a body. This is what her betrayal has turned him into, a gaping hole in his heart, a massive shape taking out chunks of him until there isn't anything left to recognize.

He's better off without her.

The room is spinning anyway.

* * *

Harvey feels like a walking disaster. He feels the aftermath of alcohol in his temples, the consequences pulsating in his head like a thunderstorm is happening right beside him. He hasn't had a hangover in years but that's what he gets for drinking a bottle of Macallan in 3 hours. For nothing, might he add. It gave him zero clarity.

He finds himself standing in the middle of a 5 year old's bedroom with a motivational poster hanging on the wall that says, _You miss 100% of the shots you never take_. Harvey feels the mere existence of the poster annoying him. Especially because the picture paired with it is soccer related rather than basketball related.

Harvey sighs then thinking that if he ever had children he would never steer them in the direction of that low level European sport. The great American pastimes include any sport but soccer. He needs to change that before he high tails it back to the city. He doesn't know when he's leaving. He knows that he's kind of overstayed his welcome anyway. He should be packing his bags already.

He hears Marcus climb the stairs, the sound of his stomping making his head pound harder, and round the corner. "Checking out the old room?"

"What is this shit?" Harvey asks, turning to face him while pointing at the motivational poster.

"He likes to kick things," Marcus says with a shrug, "And he kicks hard."

"Have you thought about teaching him how to throw a ball?" Harvey follows Marcus out of his old bedroom. Marcus laughs but doesn't answer. "I think after last night, I've overstayed my welcome."

"Don't be ridiculous, Brother. There's still room for you here," Marcus disagrees. Harvey nods slowly. He's doing everything he can to distract himself from thinking about Donna, about the course of their relationship and where exactly they've been and where they should go. But he needs to face it at some point. "I'm here to listen if you want to talk about what's got you all out of sorts."

"What did I say last night?" Harvey asks. He rings his hands together, thinking about how he needs to replace his phone as soon as possible. His fingers feel stiff. His bones feel stiff. He needs to stretch. The first thing he's doing when he gets back to the city is going to the gym. "Mind taking me to get my phone replaced?"

"Want some coffee first?" Marcus asks, "Might help soften the blow of what you said."

"Just give it to me," Harvey says with a light shake of his head.

It makes his head pound more. He looks at the cracked screen of his phone, the fading light showing him that he has a few missed messages if he holds it just right in the light. Squinting only makes the hangover's full effect sharpen behind his eyes.

"You said you hate Donna, then you said you love her," Marcus tells him, "It was all very confusing but it sounds like you have some feelings for her that you need to work out."

Marcus barrels down the stairs, every step down echoing like a bullet in Harvey's brain, but he follows his little brother to the kitchen anyway. Marcus already has two cups of coffee poured and hands one steaming cup to him. The mug burns his fingers. He suddenly remembers her lips on his cheek by her own volition, her mouth beneath his by his preference. He doesn't know what he's supposed to think.

"We've been a team for twelve years. I thought it was what she wanted, that we had everything," Harvey says in response, "Then one day she just decided it's not working for her anymore. How am I supposed to deal with that?"

"Why isn't it working for her anymore?" Marcus takes a sip of his coffee.

Harvey lets the burn settle on his fingers for just a moment longer while he considers Marcus' question. He blows on the steam to conceal his sigh. "I told her I loved her but I couldn't tell her how. I kissed her and I don't know why. I gave her flowers to be nice," he finally admits.

"Dude," Marcus says, a laugh catching in his throat, "First things first, you're a pussy."

"What?" Harvey says on instinct, confusion washing over him.

"For the last twelve years I've listened to you talk about this woman constantly and you obviously adore her, anyone who knows you can see it, but you can't tell her that. You're a pussy. She's everything to you and you watched her walk away. How could you do that?" He replies.

Harvey sighs then. He says, "Because I didn't know. She made it really clear we couldn't have both a personal and a professional relationship so I picked the one I knew I couldn't fuck up. I couldn't stand to lose her."

"But you've lost her. Now what?"

"Now I have nothing," Harvey says.

"So what's your next move?" Marcus asks. He takes another drink.

Harvey's gaze narrows on Marcus, his brother being circled with a black outline. He huffs then, leaning back against the counter. His legs don't feel strong enough to hold him upright anymore. He says, "I don't know. She deserves to live her life."

"And you're okay with her living a life without you in it?" Marcus asks.

"Look," Harvey says forcefully, turning to put his cup on the counter, "I know what you're thinking. I'm not in love with Donna."

"You obviously feel something for her," Marcus points out.

Harvey drops his gaze to the floor. He says, "I want her to be happy. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect her. I need her. I think she's one of the most wonderful people I've ever known, but I don't deserve her."

"Why exactly do you think you don't deserve her?" Marcus asks. Harvey lifts his chin to his little brother then, not really sure how to answer him. Harvey shrugs his shoulders and reaches for the cup of coffee again. "Because I know you, Brother. I know you would do anything to protect the people you love. I know you care fiercely and would fight tooth and nail to keep them safe. Mom hurt you, I get it, I really do, but you've spent your entire adult life being mad about that. Look at what it's keeping you from. You're a good man, Harvey. Don't be an idiot and lose someone who reminds you of that."

"You think I'm in love with her," Harvey says.

Marcus shrugs and says, "I can't tell you how you feel about her, but I can tell you that all of the things that you want for Donna are the things I want for Kim. Have you ever asked her what she wants?"

"She doesn't know," Harvey says, "And until I know what she wants, how am I supposed to figure out what I want?"

"So what you're saying is that you're not willing to put yourself out there unless you know without a doubt that there won't be any true risk at doing so? You are only willing to try when you know you're going to get the results that you expect?" Marcus laughs then. It grates on Harvey's nerves and all he wants is to run away from the conversation. Marcus shakes his head then and says, "No offense, Brother, but that's such a dick move. If you don't love her then let her go."

"I do love her," Harvey clarifies, "I'm just not in love with her."

"Okay, Harvey," Marcus says with a small laugh, "Lets go get your phone replaced."

Harvey balls his hands into fists. He has to make it up to her.

* * *

Harvey skims through his phone to be sure everything was backed up the way it was supposed to be, to make sure he isn't missing any messages or phone numbers. As he sits idly in the afternoon sunlight on the front porch, he considers the fact that he's been gone for days and he should give Jessica a call. He goes through his contacts, thumb hovering over Donna's name for just a few seconds too long, to find Jessica's name.

He really doesn't want to talk to her, isn't interested in hearing what she has to say about how he's dealing with his own shit and she probably only cares about the fact that he walked out in the middle of a work week without warning or alternative arrangements, not to mention no secretary to make the arrangements. He's really up shit creek without a paddle. He'll be lucky if Jessica doesn't strip his name from that damn wall by the time he gets back into the office.

He swallows, bucks up and calls her.

He says, "Hey, Jessica," in an overly sweetened voice, doesn't sound like himself, "I'm sorry I haven't called. I came to see my brother. I needed to get out of the city after everything. I didn't mean to just disappear."

Jessica deeply sighs into the phone, the ache in his head that had barely dissipated returning, and she says, "We were just worried about you, Harvey, but I understand the need to get out of the city. We need to talk about why Donna is sitting in front of Louis' desk instead of fielding your calls."

He freezes then and wants to say _I'd rather not_ – he wants to say, _she's more than that_, but instead he says nothing. He simply disconnects the call and returns to his text messages. Donna's name has moved down the list as he's received texts from Mike and Jessica, even one from Rachel, since he'd sent her the text: _I wish I would have known_; since she'd replied: _I wish I would have known, too_. The only person giving him space is the only person he truly doesn't want space from.

Maybe Marcus' words held some truth, that he doesn't want to put himself out there like he can't handle her rejecting him. He supposes that he never could handle her rejection and maybe that's his problem. He puts her on a pedestal so he cannot touch her, so her long legs are out of reach and her red hair is a marvel to be looked at and her demeanor is only a figment of his imagination. He puts her in places he can't reach. If he were to touch her it would cross a line, a line that she drew years ago.

She's lifted the line now. Her words, "I don't sleep with men that I work with," repeat in his head like a broken record. He doesn't only want her one way though. He wants her for everything – the work, the play, the pleasure, the pain. He needs her there and she didn't just take the line away, she made the line unnecessary. He tries to recount every conversation they've ever had, the ache in his head moving to his hips as he thinks of years spent watching her walk away.

She said, _I don't want this to become a thing_.

She said,_ I have to live my life_.

She said, _I'm not in love with you_.

She said, _It's not working for me anymore_.

She said, _I love you_.

* * *

He doesn't understand what she wants. He wants clarity. No, he needs clarity, and the only way that he's going to get it is to talk to her. She's the only person with the answers he needs, the only one who holds the possibilities of her not leaving him completely. They need to rebuild, and he has to take that step to do it.

He debates calling her for hours. Marcus leaves Harvey alone while the kids are in the bath and that's when his judgment gets the better of him. He calls her, giving in to his desire to keep her from getting too far out of reach for him. She's always been his trophy just outside of his reach, and she sits just outside of his office behind a layer of glass. He can look but he can't touch. He can imagine the possibilities but they will never become a reality.

He can't keep pretending that she is still his trophy. She was never really his to begin with, but he has to find a way to keep her close. He doesn't need her close enough to touch. He doesn't need to touch her. He's been perfectly happy just watching her from a distance. He just wants that back.

So he gives in and calls her.

To his surprise, she answers. For some reason, he had thought she wouldn't like she would be neck deep in a date to distract herself or something. He doesn't even know what he's supposed to think anymore. He shuffles on his feet, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the cement as he paces from the porch to the street and back.

"Twice in one week," she baits, "I thought you didn't know how to use a phone."

He can take it one of two ways. The first being a jab that he's never taken his own phone calls without her, which makes him feel inadequate like he's an asshole and there isn't any escaping that fact. The second being that she's teasing him like they're old friends and he hasn't bothered to call in a while. He called the day before, but maybe it was his timing. Maybe his timing has always been off.

"Yeah, well, I got a new phone. I just wanted to make sure I still had your number," he says, deciding it's the least threatening route to go. He hears her sigh like it's in relief, like he didn't quite take her the wrong way. "How is working for Louis?"

"Harvey, don't," she says.

"I'm not, Donna, I'm not trying to be a dick. I'm just asking because I care about you," he says.

She pauses for a moment and the silence over takes him. He wonders if he should fill the silence with something innovative or interesting but he doesn't have anything. He hasn't done much else other than reflect on their 12 years and get drunk.

"It's good. It's boring, not as much going on, but it's good. He's very generous," she says.

"I was thinking," he says, pausing in his pacing to kick at the bottom step, "Now we have an inside man to run our pranks on Louis. You manage his schedule so we won't get caught. He won't suspect a thing."

"Infiltrating the enemy," she notes.

He sighs then, the weight of her leaving pressing on his shoulders again. He turns and walks towards the street again. He says, "Yeah, I mean, we'll have to discuss our tactics better because he'll be looming over you, but we'll just have to coordinate our schedules."

"How are you going to know what your schedule even is?"

"You may have forgotten, but I'm the boss," he reminds her.

He looks at the pavement, the black tar newer than he remembers, and squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment. It's painful to talk to her like she was once an extension of him but isn't anymore, the entity of her no longer tied to the entity of him. He opens his eyes again when she gives him a pity laugh, one that is long overdue he admits, and looks up at the sky. He pushes up on his toes to distract himself from the weight on his shoulders.

"You're one of the bosses," she counters, "My boss is another one of the bosses."

"Yeah, but you have him wrapped around your finger," he says, "So we can discuss these plans further at lunch on Monday."

"Is that when you'll be back? Monday?" She asks then.

He turns on his heel and walks back towards the porch, the cement cracking beneath his feet. He lifts a hand to the bridge of his nose and pinches, his head throbbing again just a bit. He gathers his composure and laughs a little to help him stand a little taller. His nerves vibrate in his throat.

He says, "Marcus told me that I'm a pussy."

"Well," she says. She doesn't say anything else to complete her thought. His eyebrows furrow in confusion for just a moment. He wishes he could see her face to gauge the meaning behind her response.

"Hey," he says forcefully, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He kicks at the step again, the sole of his shoe rubbing against the curve of the cement. He lightly shakes his head. He feels the anxiety biting his fingertips. "I don't want to know what life feels like without you in it."

"I'm still in your life, Harvey," she says.

"But you're not outside my office," he says, "It's different now. I don't have you to call me out on my bullshit. I don't have you to talk to."

"You're talking to me now," she points out.

"It feels – It doesn't feel," he starts. He pauses. He turns and walks back towards the street. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say. All he can think of is the truth, but he doesn't know if that will burden her. He doesn't want to transfer any of the weight he feels onto her shoulders. "I don't know. It's not right, Donna. Maybe I took you for granted. I should have known – I should have seen just how much I entrusted in you. I care about you, Donna. I want you to be happy. I want you to feel like you can talk to me."

He hears her smack her lips together before she says, "I don't know, Harvey. It's complicated, we've never really been open with each other, and it's…scary."

"I know," he says. A lump forms in his throat then but he doesn't know why. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and steps to the edge of the curb. He teeters there for a few moments, pressing his phone harder to his ear. He exhales a shaky breath, trying his damnedest to calm his nerves. "But we could try. What have we got to lose?"

"You're right," she says slowly.

He hops off of the curb on instinct, like a celebratory jump, and the moment his feet hit the ground he stands up straighter. He turns back towards the house to look behind him just to be sure no one saw it. He drags a hand through his hair. He swallows then and bites down on his teeth.

He says, "I love it when I'm right."

"I know you do," she replies, "I have my rewatch of Sex and the City to get back to."

"You don't want to talk to me?" He asks, his bottom lip jutting out.

"Of course I do," she says, "But you don't see your brother very often and I don't want to take away from that."

"Fair enough," he says with a small nod. He wants to say, _I miss you_, but he doesn't. He steps up onto the sidewalk and walks towards the porch again. "Thanks for answering when I called. It was really great talking to you."

"You're welcome," she says, "Good night, Harvey Specter."

He smiles then, hand pushing into his hip, and he says, "Good night, Donna Paulsen."

He doesn't have the heart to hang up first so he lets the phone call hang for a moment until she disconnects the call. He pulls his phone from his ear and looks at it, the smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. He feels reassured, that they are getting somewhere, that if he wants to keep her in his life then he is put forth an effort. He truly can't imagine living a life that she isn't in,

Harvey slides his phone into his pocket then and makes his way up the steps. He steadies himself with a breath, his jaw feeling loose and his face no longer transfixed in a scowl, and goes into the house. Marcus practically runs down the stairs. They meet at the bottom of the stairs at the same time.

"Hey, you doin' all right?" Marcus asks, clapping a hand against Harvey's back.

Harvey feels a slight sting in his joints, the ache of getting older. He smiles at his brother though, the effects of the conversation with Donna remaining. He nods and says, "Yeah, I'm great."

"Glad to hear it," Marcus says, turning to go into the kitchen, "You look like you've just been named _Sexiest Man Alive_. Good phone call?"

"Yeah," Harvey says, his fingers tapping on his phone positioned along his thigh, "You could say that I, uh, I extended an olive branch and it was well received."

"That's great news," Marcus says, going to the refrigerator, "Want a beer?"

"What do you say we take some beers down to the field and hit a couple of balls?" Harvey suggests.

"I like the way you think, Brother," Marcus replies, pointing in his direction, "I'll go let Kim know."

Harvey watches his little brother run up the stairs to his wife and thinks, not for the first time this trip, that he wishes he could have seen the possibilities of what Marcus has sooner. He'd always told himself he'd had plenty of time to find the right girl. He could never overlook the fact that he had Donna. Having her meant his needs were met, save for the occasional rendezvous, but he could roll around with someone who doesn't matter and he'd still have Donna in the morning. She took care of him. So he tried to take care of her. And why would he want anyone else when he has Donna to talk to, to laugh with, to conquer the world with?

He's going to get her back – one way or another.

* * *

Harvey feels like the weight on his shoulders have been partially lifted. He has hope, for what he doesn't know. Hope that he can still get her back maybe. Hope that maybe a connection with Donna can be born out of friendship instead of comradery. He still wants to associate himself with her. He doesn't remember ever meeting a woman as wonderful as her and she holds a standard for him that is very hard to meet.

Women have elements of her personality. They have her sex appeal, her ability to hold their own against him, her sense of humor, but they never have the whole package. They always seem to be lacking. Like something is missing. They're never the extension of him that she is.

But he can't help smiling at the hope that he has. He doesn't know what he expects from her, doesn't really expect anything from her. He just wants her in his life and she isn't someone he's willing to let go without risking everything. He remembers telling Scottie that he wanted her in his life, but the words spoken to Scottie don't even begin to touch what he wants for Donna.

He has consumed more than half of a pack of beer alone, Marcus has probably only had 2, and he's still feeling hopeful from the conversation. They'd agreed to be open with each other, offering more information than either of them asks like real friends. He'll call it rebuilding in his head, call it grasping onto his best friend before she slips away. He pulls the bat back in preparation for Marcus to toss a ball from the pitcher's mound.

He swings and the bat cracks against the leather ball. The ball disappears into the dark sky and Marcus turns to watch the ball, trying to spot it far off into the distance. Harvey moves his shoulder a bit to free up the tension but ultimately gives up and drops the bat. Marcus laughs and shakes his head, making his way towards home plate.

"Way to go, Harv, you lost our only ball," Marcus says with a grin.

Harvey shrugs then. He goes to the fence where the beer bottles are lined up and he opens another one. He's lost count with how many he's had but he knows he's had many more than Marcus. He counts the glass bottles, but he could be off. He's surprised he even hit the ball in the first place, if he's being honest.

"I knocked it out of the park," Harvey finally says, opening another bottle. He's probably had enough but he's celebrating. "That's two home runs in one night."

Marcus takes a swig from his own bottle of beer and swallows. He says, "That's the first."

"No, no," Harvey says, leaning his shoulder against the fence, "With Donna. We made progress. We're gonna be more open with each other."

"What do you think that means?" Marcus asks.

Harvey takes another drink and pushes off of the fence. He squats to the dirt, but his legs can't balance him properly so he reaches out to grab the fence with a hand to keep upright. He lightly shakes his head and sits in the dirt.

Harvey says, "It means we're gonna talk. Like friends do. I haven't completely lost her."

"Have you ever considered that maybe you're in love with her?"

Harvey lifts his gaze to Marcus then, eyes narrowing on his brother as he processes what he's said. Of course he's considered it. He just doesn't know exactly what it means to be in love with someone. Besides, love is a grand word and he'd hate to use it incorrectly.

"Donna? Me in love with Donna?" Harvey repeats then. He pulls his knees up and takes a drink from the lukewarm bottle. He swallows. "That's the funniest thing you've ever said. I mean, sure, she's an attractive woman, but I couldn't see us, ya know – it would be too weird to go there again after all this time."

"So you think you can be intimate with a woman and go back to being just friends?" Marcus asks.

"I don't know," Harvey says, sighing, "It's been ten years. I would think that if there was anything lingering between us that we would have revisited it by now."

"Why haven't you?"

He downs the rest of his bottle and lines it up beside the rest of them. Harvey doesn't know why they haven't discussed it in the last 10 years. He doesn't know a lot of things lately – like why he kissed her and what he thought would come of it. He thinks then about the way her lips felt against his, how soft and inviting he imagines them to be. Part of him wishes he could do it again just to be sure there isn't a spark between them.

"It doesn't matter," he says finally, pushing himself to his feet, "But there's hope that we're going to remain friends."

"And if there's any luck, maybe you'll kiss her again," Marcus says.

"I don't care about that," Harvey says, "I care about her."

"Maybe you ruined each other," his little brother suggests.

Harvey squints, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, "What are you implying?"

"For other people," Marcus reiterates, "Maybe you've ruined each other for other people and you owe it to yourself to try."

"I don't know," Harvey says, "It's a moot point anyway. She wants to move on so I'm taking what I get."

"You don't know that," Marcus says. Marcus closes the distance between them and lightly taps Harvey on the temple. It annoys him. "Think about it."

Harvey clenches his teeth together for a brief moment before he decides to give his brother a break. He can't let Marcus ruin his celebration. Besides, he's going home soon so he might as well make the best of what's left. He's been mostly detestable – angry and sad and drunk – but now he's pleasant. There isn't any use in letting one comment ruin his mood.

"I just care about Donna," Harvey repeats.

Marcus doesn't press him further, but that certainly doesn't mean that Marcus has managed to get away with it. He's planted a seed in Harvey's mind. It isn't the most original of suggestions, but it manages to his the mark.

Maybe he's left a mark on Donna as deeply as she's left on him. After all, at the in house trial Louis had interrogated her about a boyfriend who wanted her to choose. She'd chosen Harvey, and maybe that was a purely professional decision, but obviously it's because she has some kind of attachment to him. He'd thought nothing of the information at the time and only manages to think of it now because he's wondering if maybe Marcus has some kind of merit in his observation. The breadth of Marcus' observation though makes Harvey wonder what his brother knows, just how much he knows, how exactly he could know.

Had he been obviously attached to his secretary all this time? No wonder she's a catalyst, an innocent used to weaken him. Fact of the matter is, his weakness has a name.

_Donna._


	4. Mutilation

Please review because I'm a bitch baby

* * *

Harvey makes a mental list of things to do today.

1, Make sure his suit sits in absolute perfection on his body.

2, Tell Mike and Rachel congratulations on their engagement.

3, Strike up a casual conversation with Donna.

Though his mental list might sound menial to others, they are all strides to becoming a different version of himself. Not too different, just different enough that the people around him know that he appreciates them. He knows he has a lot of explaining to do, on subject matters he would rather not discuss, and so he devises a way that he can discuss very little.

Stonewall. He's going to stonewall anyone who questions him.

But if he's going to face Donna, he has to be in prime condition. He cannot have one hair out of place or else she will know immediately that he has something on his mind. He can't even accurately name what he's feeling, the last thing he needs is for her to do it for him. That isn't her job anymore and she's made that very clear to him. However, the last thing he needs is to look her in the eye and know that she can read him just by his appearance.

She can do that.

He has to be sure there isn't anything to see.

So he chooses an ensemble that will catch her attention so he can prove to her that he can be put together without her. He picks a three piece Tom Ford in the color blue. It's a dark blue with really poignant, thin vertical lines. His undershirt is a solid white and his vest is a metallic navy blue where the silk wraps around his back. The pattern of his vest matches the rest of his suit. His tie is solid black. He tries a new knot that he's never done before, a Grantchester knot, and makes sure it's as perfect as he can manage before he leaves the house.

He hasn't been back to work for days so he's interested to see how everyone has managed. He has more responsibilities now yet he's being just as careless as always. He might as well not even go to work today and sign his resignation before handing it in. He's trying to look put together but he doesn't feel together. He needs glue to stay together and all he's been using is tape.

His cracks are showing.

* * *

He doesn't even make it to his office before the temp secretary at his desk informs him that Jessica wants to see him in her office…_now_. His gaze narrows on the stranger as he scrutinizes this person sitting at Donna's desk. The woman with wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes could barely even maintain eye contact with him then. He was disappointed to say the least.

It's then that he looks into his office, not quite getting past the threshold as he teeters on his heels to weigh his options. He sees that his desk has been cleaned up and organized. He can only come up with a few half-assed theories as to what happened, all of them longingly involving Donna even though he knows better.

He worries at his cheek for a moment before he turns on his heel, his movement calculated so as not to bother looking at the woman again.

"Fine," he says, storming in the direction of Jessica's office.

He doesn't give her a chance to retort and certainly doesn't give a shit about whatever she has to say. He just braces himself for the reprimand he's going to receive in Jessica's office. He's halfway to Jessica's office when he catches a glimpse of Donna sitting at her desk, her red hair shielding her from his gaze. He doesn't know how to gauge seeing her again if she doesn't look directly at him.

She looks up at him as if she senses him near and he offers her a small wave of his hand, a brief moment in time as he lifts his hand in the air to signal a timid greeting. He doesn't know why he thinks she won't receive his greeting well, but he doesn't trust himself anymore. She smiles before he reaches her desk. He flexes his fingers in response.

"You made it back," she says cheerfully. If it were anyone other than her, he'd probably flare his nostrils in return.

He offers her a small nod and comes to a stop at her desk. He says, "The boss lady called me into her office."

"Oh no, you're in trouble," she teases.

He laughs gently. He says, "Nowhere I haven't been before."

"I think she's just worried about you," Donna says.

"Maybe," he replies with a shrug. He wants to tell her that Jessica is going to ask why he doesn't have a secretary but he's not going to concern her with his professional affairs any longer. He taps on the plastic of her cubicle. He says, "I better not keep her waiting. Lunch?"

"We'll see," she says coyly.

He watches her back arch as she pushes her chest out, fingers splaying over her keyboard. Her demeanor could easily be construed as flirtatious and he doesn't know how to take that. His eyebrow pops up on his forehead for a moment as he examines her. She knows she's on display yet she doesn't waver one bit. God, he's missed this woman.

"Come on," he baits, "Don't play hard to get."

She smirks and leans towards him. She says, "You know you love the game."

He leans forward, too. He says, "Only with you."

They hold their positions for a few moments. He wonders if this falls on the slightly inappropriate side of conduct for two people who are not anything at all. He can't keep thinking like that. They're friends. Either way, it's inappropriate for two people who are just friends.

It takes Louis clearing his throat from behind him to break their eye contact. Harvey swivels at the waist, the tension gathering at his shoulders at the sight of his rival. Louis' office being between his and Jessica's is both a blessing and a misfortune.

"You were on your way to Jessica's office," Donna says from behind him, saving him once again from a head-to-head with Louis. She's saved him from an ugly outcome many times before.

He turns to face her again, taking a step back on his heel and offering her silent thanks. He stands taller and moves around her work space to head back down the long hallway. He hears Donna greet Louis good morning as her chair squeaks when she vacates it. He knows the routine by now. She's probably handing him all of the paperwork he'll need while reviewing his scheduled meetings for the day with him. In that moment, he hates Louis for taking what belongs with him.

He's forced to forget his encounter with Donna as Jessica comes into view. He thinks he should probably be worried with what he sees. She has her eyes closed and her feet up. He's beginning to wonder if this meeting is even about him at all.

"Good morning, Harvey," she says, peeling an eye open, "Shut the door, please."

He hesitates for a brief moment as he turns to glance behind him. He spots Louis in the distance peeking down the hallway, spying in on them. He isn't surprised as Louis has never really given them a moment without intrusion. He locks eyes with Louis and smirks, reaching for the door and closing it slowly, with purpose.

His smirk widens as Louis huffs and disappears into his office. He turns then to look at Jessica and he says, "Have you been here all night?"

"I couldn't sleep. I came in early," she says, sitting upright on her couch. She's putting her heels back on as he makes his way to the chair across from her. He unbuttons his suit jacket as he sits down and nods slowly, in understanding. She looks at him and he sees it there, the question in her eyes. "You met your new secretary?"

His face drops instantly. He says, "She's not my secretary."

"Temporarily," Jessica replies forcefully, "She is. Are you going to tell my why Donna is sitting in front of Louis' office or are you going to make me guess?"

"It's what she wanted," Harvey says. His eyes drop from Jessica's and he absently picks at a non-existent piece of lint on his pants. It's messy. Everything is messy – for him and Donna, for Jessica and Jeff – and he feels it again, the unsettling in his bones as the two of them placate their messy lives. He swallows and sits a little straighter. "She didn't give me a say in the matter. So before you ask, I didn't sign off on it, but I'm not going to make her work for me if it isn't working for her anymore."

"Is that what she said? That it isn't working for her anymore?"

He expels a breath. The question pricks his skin like it's opening a wound. He can feel the metaphorical knife push deeper and deeper until it begins twisting in his skin. His vision blurs and he stands. He will not cry. Jessica will not see him cry. Ever.

"Something like that," he says slowly.

"Sit your ass down, Boy. I didn't call you in here just to talk about you," she says before he can make any move to leave.

Her gaze narrows on him and he relents without argument. He doesn't need her trying to be his mother when they're supposed to be equals. He sits back down in the chair. Settling his arm on the armrest, he refuses to meet her gaze. He blinks the tears back as the silence engulfs them.

"Harvey," she says in a soft voice, demanding yet comforting, "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," he replies dismissively, "Are you okay?"

"It isn't like you to ask," she says.

He shrugs then, blinking quickly. He supposes that could be true. Jessica has always been quite frank with him and told him anything that she wanted him to know. Perhaps he is becoming soft, but he's always thought they were closer than that.

"Do I have to?"

She stands then and wanders to her tea cart where her tea set sits, and she pours herself a cup of tea. She doesn't speak, just gestures to see if he wants a cup, but he shakes his head gently to decline her offer. He purses his lips together for a brief moment before darting his tongue out over them to wet them, to busy his mouth to keep from speaking.

"Donna," he starts, "She made a huge mistake and I thought I was going to lose her. I was terrified and I couldn't comfort her properly. I had a moment of clarity and I felt like she should know that I love her but that wasn't enough for her. She wanted more, I think, and now it's too late."

"Look, Harvey, I've been doing some introspection of my own and I want to take a sabbatical. The work isn't enough for me anymore either. I always wanted to go to Paris. I could take a staycation. I could travel anywhere in the world. So that's what I'm going to do in a couple of months," she says. She moves back to the couch and sits down. Once taking a sip of her tea, she sets the cup on its plate and the pair on the table. "I want you to see a therapist for anger management. Before you contest, I need you to hear me out. I'm going to be gone and it's going to be you and Louis pulling ranks. There are going to be times I want you to see the therapist together. I need to make sure you two have conflict resolution down by the time I leave. I know, you don't like it, but I don't want our business going under without me here."

"You're shitting me," he replies. He feels his jaw tense and his lips become heavy on his face.

"I'm not budging on this, Harvey. Dr. Agard will be here first thing Thursday morning so make sure you're on time," Jessica says.

* * *

Harvey is pissed. No, he's beyond pissed. He thought that when his name got place on the wall he'd actually get to make some decisions around here, but boy was he wrong. He's hardly made any decisions and since Jessica is managing partner, she has the final word.

She may have a point, that he and Louis have hardly ever seen eye-to-eye on anything and need a little direction there, but he wouldn't go as extreme as Jessica and say that they need a corporate therapist. He didn't even want to hear anymore, just left Jessica's office before finding out any details on the matter.

Walking back to his office, he takes a different route so he doesn't have to cross paths with his former secretary. The last thing he needs is her analyzing him and calling him out on his swift change of mood. Of course she would poke and prod him until she got answers because she can read his mannerisms. Hell, she would read him just based on his clothing choice that morning.

So, he goes back to his office and makes a point to close his door and shut his new secretary out (not that he even knows her name). He can see her from his desk and he thinks she isn't even doing anything other than online shopping. Donna used to squeeze that in but she at least knew what was going on in his office.

He skips lunch.

* * *

Harvey doesn't leave his office to even go to the bathroom. He watches his secretary carefully throughout the day and notes that she doesn't really do anything spectacular while sitting at her desk. She leaves at 5 o'clock on the dot like the work stops at 5. He's never understood people who work like that. People like that don't care about their work and they only want the paycheck.

But, thankfully for him, his absent associates don't stop working at 5. Mike and Rachel have been in the library all day studying for one of her tests, and Harvey allowed it because he's been missing for the last week so he needs to catch up to all of the work they've done. Besides, he doesn't want to be a dick, especially when Rachel is so close to Donna.

He wants Donna to think he's doing okay without her. Sometimes he is, but other times he just wants to sit with her and talk to her. With her outside of reach, he feels like there's an empty hole inside of him. Part of him had hoped that if he didn't press her about lunch again that she would show up at his office, but she never did. It hurt his feelings a little bit.

But as the setting sun casts its shadow into his office, he can't focus on everything inside of these walls anymore. Donna spends her day down the hall but he still manages to never see her. He can't even remember what she's wearing (not that he keeps every detail about her in a journal or anything). He needs to get another look at her, just one more before she goes home and he misses his chance. With his secretary no longer sitting outside of his office, the risk of running into and being forced to speak to her no longer exists.

So, he pushes himself to his feet to head down to her desk, but before he can even make it out of his office, Mike cuts him off. They nearly collide but both manage to jump back in time. He feels Mike staring at him, the kid's eyebrows furrowed like he's being judged. Harvey doesn't like it.

"Harvey, hey," Mike says, "Oh, were you leaving?"

"No," Harvey relents. He sighs and drops his shoulders, taking a half step back away from the doorway. "It's not important."

"I was just coming to see if there's anything you needed us to do before we left?" Mike asks. Harvey stares at him, trying to register his question. It doesn't seem to click. He'd guess that he looks dumfounded. He furrows his eyebrows. "We're going for drinks with Donna, to celebrate."

Harvey nods slowly at the mention of Donna's name. He should have known. He swallows to gather himself, hands balling at his sides. He says, "Have fun."

He steps back to put more distance between them. He turns on his heel, turning away from the possibility of seeing Donna walk away once again. He expects Mike to meet them in front of the elevators or for them to pass by his office in a huge group laughing.

Harvey moves around his desk and sits in his chair, surprised to see that Mike is still standing in his office with his hands buried deep into his pockets. Harvey looks at him then, eyes widening with purpose as he makes an excused gesture with his hands. Mike takes a half step back, clearly wanting to pry some kind of response out of him.

"Seriously, Mike, go. Have fun. I'll be fine," he mutters.

Mike stands stock still for a moment before the palpitating silence bites at Harvey's neck. Harvey clears his throat then, urging Mike to say what he has to say and get on with it. He's certain that his annoyance is peering through the cracks of his façade.

"You can join us, for the drinks, if ya want," Mike says then. It sounds an awful lot like a courtesy more than an invitation. Harvey absently wonders if this is what pity sounds like from someone else's mouth. "We're going to Esca."

"Donna hates seafood," he hears himself say. He hadn't even prepared himself to say anything on the matter. He lightly shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket like he's going. He doesn't think it's the best idea. "She likes The Commodore."

"That's in Williamsburg," Mike gawks.

"We can take the subway," he says with a shrug.

"Harvey Specter taking public transportation? This I'd like to see," Mike counters.


	5. Perception

He steps onto the car behind Donna, squeezing in beside a young couple. He watches as Donna, Rachel and Mike grab onto the nearest pole. The car is full and the four of them are dressed too nicely for public transportation. Dare he say that even Mike is dressed too nicely.

The car jolts forward as it moves on the tracks but he doesn't move with gravity. He hasn't braced himself appropriately so his chest hits Donna's shoulder. He wasn't even aware that he had been crammed so close to her, the couple behind him pressing into the small of his back. He groans outwardly as Donna reaches for his sleeve and pulls his hand to the pole.

He hasn't said much since they started their trek to the subway and has made sure to put enough distance between him and the girls, which most of the time even means he's trailing behind the trio. In retrospect, he has spent a good amount of time thinking he probably shouldn't have even joined them. They were better off without him rearranging their whole plans.

The warmth of her presses against his thighs as her scent intoxicates him. He can feel the back of her pressed against his front and he looks over at Mike and Rachel. The pair seems to be either unaware or uninterested in his close proximity to his old secretary. He's distracted from looking at his associates when he feels her eyes on him.

He looks down at her, a strand of her red hair brushing over his jaw line. He lifts his left hand and brushes the hair behind her ear to keep it from tickling his face any longer. Her lips tighten and his gaze flutters to the palpable fullness of them, her pink lipstick still fresh like she'd reapplied it not too long ago. He swallows then, looking away from her.

He slides his hand further up the pole so as not to be so close to her. His fingers hit Mike's hand and he quickly moves his hand. He's no longer hanging on to anything as the car comes to a stop.

His front presses against Donna's back, her silver dress popping against his blue suit, and she glances at him over her shoulder. His hands press against her hips as he gets his footing, the doors squeaking open behind him. He can almost hear the rate of her breathing change through the haste of people moving around them.

"Shit," he says, "Sorry. I…"

"I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose," she replies.

He laughs gently with a light shake of his head, putting his hand back on the pole with some space between his hand and hers. He says, "I'm not."

"It's like you don't know how the subway works," she says.

"I know how it works," he insists. "I thought I told you I didn't like you taking the subway alone."

"Who says I was alone?" She teases. He rolls his eyes, giving her a pointed look. He shakes his head then, the car moving forward again. The warmth of her presses against him again and he doesn't move away this time. "I went with my brother, if that makes you feel any better."

"Well, not really," Harvey admits, "I meant someone who could protect you."

"First of all, that's a very sexist thing to say," she replies, "Second, just because he's gay doesn't mean he couldn't kick your ass if he wanted to."

He laughs at the thought. Her brother has weak wrists. They would probably snap with the first sign of contact. He leans forward as someone laughs down the car so she can hear him better. He says, "I just worry about you, you know, because we're friends and all."

"I'm a big girl, Harvey," she says, "I don't need you to be my hero."

"You're the one who saved me," he reminds her, "Pretty sure I would have been flat on my face without you."

"Where's my superhero costume?"

"It's been backordered," he says.

She laughs then, quiet and calculated. He still likes the way it sounds, like she has a special laugh just for him. They've always been full of themselves, she's guilty of it too, and often look at one another smugly. She's always given him a certain smile, a prideful one, when she's proud of something he's said. This laugh goes beyond that.

He can hear her over everyone else, including the rowdy fellows yelling and laughing from 5 feet away. He thinks her laughs sounds like a soundtrack that he'd like to play over and over again. He half considers asking her to laugh again so he can record it on his phone. But he doesn't.

Instead, he grins at her but stiffens so he doesn't bump into her so easily.

At the next stop, a few seats open up as the hipsters inhabiting them get off of the train. He taps her on the elbow and gestures to the chairs. She nods and reaches for Rachel's attention. The two women move to take the seats as he and Mike instinctively gravitate closer.

He looks at Mike then and he can see the kid has a few questions, ones that Harvey refuses to answer. Honestly, he doesn't know how to answer them. As the train comes back to life, he begins running through the questions.

_What's going on between him and Donna?_ Nothing. No, not nothing. They are friends. They are open and honest friends. They're getting together outside of the office and nursing a relationship from the ground up. He doesn't know what to call it. Whatever is happening between them isn't meant to be romantic, at least he doesn't think.

She doesn't want their relationship to be romantic either. Well, she's never exactly said that, but she doesn't know what she wants with him. He supposes that his presence isn't helping her exactly figure out what she wants, but he's desperate. He desperately doesn't want her to leave him, not in every way. The thought of being without her is more terrifying than anything, but he can't just keep telling people what they want to hear.

He needs to learn to be honest and forthright with his feelings. If he can't do that with her then he probably won't ever be able to do that with anybody. And he wants to be honest, to be forthright with her, but in order to do that he has a lot of barriers to break down.

The first of those barriers is the one she'd asked him to build long ago, the one that hadn't allowed him to look at her in _that_ way. He has looked at her in that way before, sure, but that was over a decade ago. He feels like he keeps repeating himself, like he keeps trying to talk himself into feeling something that he doesn't feel.

He looks over at her then, his lips slightly parted but his jaw still tight. She's huddled close to Rachel as they look at something on her phone and they both giggle. He wonders what they are looking at, what they could be talking about. He can only imagine the world on her phone – apps for online dating, texts from suitors, pictures of attractive men.

An annoyance boils in the pit of his stomach. It's warm and distracting, makes an ache claw up his torso to settle in his chest. The bitter taste on his tongue catches in the back of his throat and makes him gag. He swallows the bubble of air like he's swallowing bile, and rips his gaze away from the women.

He doesn't understand how she could press him to tell her how he loves her less than 14 days ago and be looking at pictures of potential dates today. It's hypocritical and manipulative to toy with him like that, to want what she wants from him and if he doesn't give it to her than to move on. He hates how easy it is for her to move on from…whatever they were.

He really needs a drink.

He sways as the car turns a corner and his shoulder taps Mike's. He feels Mike looking at him then, but Harvey's gaze stops on the redhead in front of him. Her long legs tight at her thighs, calves pressed together and ankles crossed – he stares at the expanse of them. He traces the curve of her knee, the way the hem of her dress sneaks up her thigh to expose just a little more skin than is intended. He wants to touch her dress, just to see what type of material it is, to feel it against his fingertips.

He imagines it to be soft, a stark contrast to her brilliantly pink heels that are undoubtedly pricey enough to counter the cost of his own shoes. She still appears to be an extension of him, the epitome of her fashion line complimentary to his own. His eyes linger where her dress ends and her legs begin, the distinct color of her skin fading into the dark shadows between her legs.

He absently drags his tongue over his lips, a predatory gaze taking over him. She locks eyes with him then, her smile widening as her eyebrow twitches on her face. She slowly crosses one knee over the other, the shadows accenting the crevices he isn't allowed to see. He swallows then, the lump scraping against the back of his throat. She challenges him for just a moment longer before she leans into Rachel, returning to their giggling.

He continues watching them and he can almost swear that one of her eyes stays trained on him. He doesn't realize how much he wants it to be true, how much he wants her to be watching his every move. He's missed the indulgences – only being able to look and not touch. He thinks it's possible that her hand flattens against her thigh and pulls towards her, ultimately lifting the hem of her dress and offering more leg for him to see.

He thinks he's lost his fucking mind.

Thankfully, Mike pushes an elbow into his upper arm and forces him to turn his gaze from the semi-private show in front of him. Semi-private is a long shot but he considers her taunting to be solely for him. Mike gestures to his naked wrist to get the time.

Harvey glares at him then and says, "One more stop between here and ours."

"You sound like you do this often," Mike counters.

"No," he replies simply, a light shake of his head. "I usually have my driver take me to Brooklyn."

"I'm surprised you have a Metro card," Mike says.

"I'm a New Yorker," Harvey replies. That's all the information necessary.

He's distracted from the conversation again as he hears Donna laugh. She holds her hand close to her chest, fingers sliding over her slightly exposed cleavage. He purses his lips together, absently wondering why he hasn't heard her laugh in such a long time. He wishes she were like this with him, open and free to laugh so whole-heartedly.

The rest of the car ride is relatively silent for him, split between watching Donna laugh and just taking in her appearance. They follow a handful of hipsters off of the train and he takes the opportunity to guide the group of them forward. Mike reaches for Rachel's hand as Harvey presses a light touch to the small of Donna's back. He feels like he's being predatory, like he's trying to protect her from anyone else looking at her.

He slowly disconnects, removing his hand from the warmth of her and dropping his hand to his side. He focuses on his associates then, their touchy demeanor still unfamiliar to him as he sees them interact as a couple for the first time. He's seen them interact before, yes, but never really in situations where they are outside of work. He usually teases them and as their boss has the right to say something, but outside of the office he doesn't have anything he can say.

A chill skates through his spine at the sight of them, at the sight of what they have. It seems like everyone in his life is in love or is going for what's in their heart – Marcus and Kim, Mike and Rachel, and even Jessica. He envies them for knowing what they want in the first place, but as he looks at the redheaded woman beside him, he remembers that he isn't the only one in this position. She doesn't know what she wants either.

She notices him then and she offers him a smile.

He thinks maybe this evening could make some kind of bridge between them.

* * *

It occurred to him halfway through dinner that this did not feel like coworkers hanging out after work or friends getting together for an impromptu meal as he's heard some friends do. Those feelings have stuck with him for the last hour as they spent half an hour on the train, another half hour with Mike and Rachel before bidding adieu and are now meandering towards the park. He can see the park from his deck but the view up close and at night feels much different.

Now that they're alone, he doesn't much know what to say. He's only been back from his brother's for 2 days and whatever happened on the train, he doesn't have the first clue what to call it, was definitely crossing some kind of imaginary line they'd refused to cross. He's afraid to look in her general direction; he's afraid of what he may see when he looks at her now that they're alone. He knows that she particularly enjoys whatever game she plays with him, the one where she gets to him in public and he can't do anything about it. It's less of a risk that way without the possibility of follow through.

"Donna," he says, slowly.

She shivers then as she widens her step, her heel touching the ground in sync with his. She says, "Harvey."

"Are you cold?" He asks. He feels like he's 15 again. He doesn't know if he likes it or not.

"No, I'm fine," she replies.

He's confused. He says, "I just saw you shivering."

"That wasn't a cold shiver," she says. It sounds like an admission, and when he shifts his gaze towards her, she looks shy. Her hair is a curtain blocking him from completely getting a good look at her, and he leans forward ever so slightly to see her more clearly. She lightly shakes her head and looks at him when he angles himself forward. "It was a…it was a different kind of shiver."

"You're not nervous are you? The great Donna Paulsen nervous because she's alone with some guy," he teases.

"You don't make me nervous, Harvey," she says, "It's just – I don't want you to hate me for going to work for Louis."

"I don't hate you," he reassures. He buries his hands into his pockets, thinking he isn't sure he can keep from touching her in some way to reassure her. Maybe he could lightly touch her elbow or press his fingers against her shoulder to make her feel the truth to his words. He swallows then and says, "I'm a little lost right now, but I could never hate you."

"You're not just some guy either, Harvey," she replies. He's taken aback by her response, but he isn't entirely sure what that means. For the most part, he hasn't tried to figure out what that would mean when she says it. He knows they mean something to each other, but he doesn't know how to define that. She huffs out a breath of air. She says, "You're…you."

He shakes his head. "What do you mean by that?"

"I just mean," she starts, but the warm air at his side disappears in an instant. He pauses in his step and turns his head, looking at her. He feels the confusion wash over him and turns his body completely towards her. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and reaches out for her, but he doesn't touch her; he just lets his hand hang in the air between them. "I've known you for twelve years and it sometimes feels like I don't know you at all."

"Of course you know me," he replies. He doesn't understand where she's coming from. His entire career she's been beside him, reminding him of who he is. He steps closer again and the breeze from the outdoor air bites his earlobes. He buries his hand back in his pocket to constrain them. "You probably know me better than I know me."

"You've always been my boss," she says. She crosses her arms over her chest, the straps of her purse pressing into the crook of her elbow, and she seems to hug herself. She looks colder than she's admitting, at least to him anyway. "You're not my boss anymore. I don't even know what you are anymore."

"I'm you're friend," he reminds her. He falls into place beside her and presses his elbow lightly against her back, urging her forward. When she steps forward, he follows close behind. The warmth of her invades him again. "We agreed that we were going to try to be friends. It'll take both of us putting forth some effort."

"What was this tonight, Harvey?" She asks.

He sighs then, not really sure what kind of answer she's looking for. He shrugs and steps too wide, so wide that he puts enough space between them that he can't feel her warmth for a moment. He says, "I don't know. It was dinner and drinks to celebrate Mike and Rachel getting engaged."

"So you did notice?" She presses.

"Notice?" He lets the question hang there, the thought unfinished like he's begging her to complete his thought. He doesn't know how to get her to just fill in the blanks. He wants that unspoken conversation back. He relents upon seeing that she isn't budging, that she wants him to speak his entire thought. "Of course I noticed. She has a huge rock on her hand."

"You didn't tell either of them congratulations," she points out.

"It was a rough week," he says.

"That's no excuse," she says. She stops again. She lifts a hand and pushes her hair back behind her ear. She looks at him, her lips puffing on air, her neck elongating as she tucks her fingers into crevices of herself like she's struggling with the same thing he's struggling with. "Life is rough sometimes, Harvey. That's no reason for you to be a dick to people who care about you."

He stares at her for a moment. Her words sound foreign to him, like they are laced with a quiet and unspoken truth. He tilts his head slightly, narrowing his gaze on her. He pulls his hands from his pockets, balling his hands into fists at his sides. He still doesn't know what to do with his hands in her presence.

"Are we still talking about Mike and Rachel?"

"Were we ever talking about Mike and Rachel?" She counters.

"I don't know," he admits. He swallows then, standing straighter as the muscles in his face relax. The end of her hair catches in the wind and floats in the air. "Look, I've been trying very hard not to be a dick to you. I'm angry. Of course I'm angry. You left me and I understand why, most of the time. Sometimes I don't understand at all. I feel anything but hate towards you, Donna."

"What?"

"I told you I love you, Donna. I told you I love you and you left me," he says, "But that doesn't change anything. I still meant it regardless everything that followed."

"You're frustrating me," she says. She moves away from him, her body moving forward before her feet, but he reaches out and stops her before she can really move.

"You can't walk away every time we try to talk about this," he says.

She expels a breath, her breath almost a low growl in her throat. Her breath touches his lips and he wants this to go better. He wants to say the things that he needs to say. He wants to kiss her.

She says, "I don't want to talk about this."

"Donna, I need to know," he says, "What did you mean when you told me you love me?"

"I really don't know," she says.

Underneath the lamp, her cheeks glow in a flush of pink, and her lips jut out into a pout. He knows she isn't doing it on purpose this time, making herself this thing he's attracted to. Or something. He's always been attracted to her in some way. He just keeps looking at her lips.

"What will it take for you to know?" He asks. He swallows. He releases her. She doesn't move. He's relieved.

"You knowing what you want from me, you being able to tell me how," she says, "That will help me know."

"I know I want to kiss you," he tells her. He shrinks in his suit, shrinks beneath her gaze, his bravado easily leaving him stranded before her eyes. She looks surprised, putting space between them without really putting any space between them. "But I don't know what that means."

"You can't keep doing this every time you get me alone," she warns.

"I didn't. I didn't do anything. I told you what I was thinking, how I was feeling, because I didn't know what else to say and I didn't want to make it harder on you. I'm looking at you that way. It doesn't mean I'm in love with you or that I'm ready. It just means that I'm here and I can't help myself with you. I don't even know if I can follow through. You live your life, Donna. I just am desperate to stay in it."

"You can be a real jerk sometimes," she says. He nods slowly. He didn't keep his mouth shut on the subject matter for once and he's a real jerk for it. He knows he can't say anything to get them out of this situation. She says, "I still don't know what this means for me, okay? If you were going to love me, you would love me by now."

"I do love you," he replies.

"Not like that," she snaps. He visibly recoils. She reaches out and lightly touches his arm, her fingertips pressing against his torso. He swallows, trying to contain himself. "We can't keep doing this to ourselves, Harvey. There's this veil between us, this thing that has kept us from seeing each other clearly over the years. I don't know how to lift it."

He hesitates for a moment before he says, "Fine."

He can hear the annoyance dripping in his own voice.


	6. Palpability

Days pass and he still thinks of how he walked her home without further conversation, with the space between them hanging angrily with things they hadn't said and wanted to say but didn't know how. He can't keep repeating himself when she isn't interested in listening to what he really has to say. So he's decided to keep his mouth shut, not to press her anymore to discuss things she doesn't want to talk about.

Besides, he's tired of being the fool all tripped up over something some woman said or did. He can call her that in his mind, some woman, like she isn't this force to be reckoned with on even the best of days. He knows that she isn't some woman. She's the most impacting force he'll ever encounter in his entire life. He doesn't know how to just let it go if things aren't right between them.

And things between them are really just not right.

Every step he thinks he's making towards fixing it, he discovers is the wrong move. He loves her, but however he loves her isn't enough. He doesn't know how to reiterate to her that he does love her. Maybe he doesn't know how to define that word properly, but that doesn't mean that he can't possibly know that he loves her.

Love in uncertain terms reminds him of what he feels for Donna. He would feel lost without her, feel like an incomplete person, and he supposes that ultimately means that she is his other half – no, his better half. He could consider, first and foremost, that consulting Google to find out what that means would be beneficial for him. On the other hand, he could just ride out the philosophical musings about meanings behind things that he doesn't even understand.

Either way, he doesn't know how to decipher his own feelings without Donna and he's being forced to see a corporate psychiatrist. Which, technically, is what a human relations department is for. He knows that the department exists. He just doesn't know where it is located. He prefers it that way.

Reluctantly, he trudges down the hallway to Jessica's office, hands in his pockets and pout on his lips. He notes that Donna isn't in yet as he slides passed her desk and he thinks it may be easier that way. If he were to see her then he'd just want to talk to her and he doesn't even know what to say to her anyway.

Even though he's early, he's still the last one to arrive. Louis and Jessica are laughing with some blonde woman on the couches in the named partner's office. He feels like he didn't get the 'arrive early' memo and he's the laughing stock of the required meeting. He doesn't really want to be here anyway and to walk in on them laughing at him really grates on his nerves.

So he braces himself for the barge like he's walking off of a plank and falling right into the wild sea of unpredictability. He supposes that he is kind of coming face to face with a group of mean girls. At least, they kind of are anyway, what with Jessica becoming intolerant of any kind of bullshit and Louis taking his most prized possession from him. Maybe he's just bitter about the therapist. He wouldn't be doing it if everyone else didn't have to do it, too.

He throws his shoulders back in preparation of the encounter, fixes his mouth with a smile and charges ahead like he's ready for battle. He leaves Jessica's door wide open in defiance and blinks quickly as the soles of his shoes scuff the carpet beneath his feet. All 3 pair of eyes turn to him in unison but he refuses to waver.

"Talking about me?" He asks with a smirk.

"Actually, we were discussing the discrepancies in the education system," the blonde woman replies, standing to her feet, "I'm Doctor Agard, you must be…?"

He scowls then, annoyed at her game. He has no doubt that she knows exactly who he is. And, furthermore, that she's testing him. He's never really played well with others. He shoots a glare in Jessica's direction then. She gives him a cheeky smile in return which prompts him to slowly shake his head at her.

He snaps his gaze back towards the corporate therapist he googled the night before and his smile returns. He hates being analyzed. He decides to be the bigger man and he extends his hand for her to shake. He can only make a first impression one time.

"Harvey Specter," he supplies for her, "I'm the one you're here to micromanage."

"I'm not here for you," she replies, taking his hand.

"Look, Paula – can I call you Paula – I think we both know that Jessica told you I can be difficult, that me and Louis have a little star-crossed rivalry going on. That's what the three of you were discussing before I came into the room because I seemed to have missed the pre-meeting pow wow memo," he replies, holding her hand for longer than is necessary – it really makes the opposing side shake in their boots when he grasps onto the handshake a tad bit longer than is necessary – and he slowly retracts his hand from hers, "And though I may have missed the specifics, I am highly aware of the details included in that conversation. So, let's not pretend that this isn't about what it's really about."

She narrows her gaze on him in that way, in that way Donna does when she's examining his appearance, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like being scrutinized by some blonde woman with a PhD dressed like she picked her attire out of a JC Penny catalogue. She could do better than JC Penny. Any self-respecting woman would at least shop at Saks or Nordstrom.

She tightens her lips together for just a brief moment before she says, "Mister Specter, I'm not here to judge you-"

"Isn't that part of your job description?"

"Regardless of what you think a corporate psychiatrist may do, I'm simply here to help you and Mister Litt figure out the best way to calmly communicate with one another," she replies. He's already tired of all the therapy bullshit. Sure, he's trying to do it for Jessica, but there is not a single moment of him that will enjoy or fully benefit from this. It's all Louis' fault anyway. "I would like to get your preferences on where our sessions should be held."

"My office is farther from the gossip mill," Louis kindly pipes up.

Harvey laughs. "I am not sitting in your office and speaking to a therapist with Donna listening in."

"How could she even do that?"

"She's listening, Louis," he says, his hands dropping into his pockets, "She's always listening."

"You're just jealous because she wanted to work for me. It's not my fault you have no idea how lucky you were," Louis counters.

Harvey feels his face fall, mouth forming into a thin line as he steps closer to the little weasel. The toe of his shoe taps against Donna's new bosses and Harvey feels his blood boil. And to think, just moments ago he was willing to give this a try.

"Let's get two things clear," Harvey growls, "I am well aware of how special Donna is and you need to keep your mouth shut when it comes to things you know nothing about. If you had kept your mouth shut in the first place we wouldn't even be in this mess."

"My secretary died," Louis says then.

Harvey leans forward, getting into the little man's space, and he says, "So you felt like you had the right to poach mine. All's fair in war, Louis. I got it. All bets are off."

"I think you've got your work cut out for you," Jessica says to Paula teasingly. Harvey knows that Jessica just fired a warning shot.

* * *

Last one to arrive, first one to leave. That's the hand he's playing. Or, better yet, the hand he's been forced to play. He's the odd man out and he's being backed into a corner. He should take his own advice and push back. If any one of them pulls out a knife, he'll pull out a gun. If they pull out a gun, he'll pull out a bazooka. He's ready for World War 3.

He's not interested in games anymore.

He charges down the hallway. And, god, he sees Donna and she looks beautiful and he remembers wanting to kiss her. And he remembers the way she tortured him with her pert lips and seductive smile as she teased him with the expanse between her thighs just hours before she told him that he's not seeing her clearly.

He's angry…angrier.

He doesn't get how they can both toss around the word love and two weeks later they're pretending to hardly know each other. Well, it isn't that bad. They aren't pretending to hardly know each other. She has just made it abundantly clear that their views of each other are clouded, in her opinion. He just wasn't aware that everything in life had to have meaning.

"Hey, Harvey," she says softly as he gets closer to her desk, "I just wanted to-"

"Not now, Donna," he interjects, he keeps walking.

"Harvey, I," her persistence brings him to a halt, his back still to her and his fingers flexing towards a fist, "I'm sorry for the other night. I was out of line."

"Okay," he says. He inches forward a step before teetering back onto his heel. He casts a glance over his shoulder and he sees her standing, hands at her sides tapping away her uncertainty on her thigh. She is a slight blur, but he can make her out entirely. "Is that all?"

"Yes," she says in response.

Her voice sounds shaky, like her apology is more than sincere but emits her regret. He momentarily feels his anger tingle on his fingertips like he's floating above himself because he wants to comfort her. He wants to, contrary to what she may believe, make her feel better because he hates it when she cries. She should know that by now. She should know that when she cries he would give her the world if it would dry her eyes.

He gives her a slight nod and continues down the hallway, the sound Louis' chirpy footsteps rushing behind him as the weasel returns to his office. He doesn't want to square off against that guy one second longer. He thinks if he encounters Louis' smug face for even a second longer today then he will knock that look right off of his face.

Harvey feels immediately dejected upon seeing Mike taking up residence in his office. He does not want to do with the kid, especially not now. He's turning on everyone who has ever betrayed him. Fuck Louis, fuck Mike, and fuck Donna. They can all go to hell for ever turning their backs on him. Loyalty is a two way street and none of them have ever shown their loyalty to him.

He rounds the corner into his office, his shoulder ramming into the glass frame and a sting shooting into his elbow, and he narrows a gaze at Mike. He imagines all of the ways he could murder the kid in front of him. He could knock him upside the head with a baseball bat. Or he could stab him with one of his four hundred dollar pens.

Too much of a mess.

He could drown Mike in one of the toilets in the bathroom. He could drown Louis, too. He could just have them line up as he shoves their ties into the toilet bowl and flushes as he holds their heads under. He could drown each every one of them. Not Donna. He wouldn't drown Donna. He would come up with an alternative punishment for her, but he couldn't hurt her. The worst he would do is make her his assistant again.

"What do you want?" He barks at his associate.

His associate's female counterpart must be at school or she's running late. He isn't sure which. He doesn't know what days Rachel comes in what days she has class. He doesn't want to keep track of his own schedule.

"Donna said you were in a meeting," he explains.

"Don't ask Donna where I am," he replies, "It's not her job anymore. Keep my name out of your mouth when speaking to her."

"You're being ridiculous," Mike says, "She still cares about you, Harvey."

"Don't speak on Donna's behalf," he huffs.

"I thought everything was okay between you two. You seemed to be getting along just fine the other night. Did something happen?"

"None of your business," he replies heatedly. He finally makes it to his chair and drops into it, rolling the chair forward. He leans on his elbows. Flipping his computer lid open and turning on his laptop he casts a sideways glance at Mike. "Leave it alone, Mike."

"What exactly happened between you two?" Mike asks, standing from the couch. The kid shoves his hands into his pockets and ambles towards Harvey's desk. He says, "She's not sitting guarding your office anymore. What could have possibly happened to make her leave?"

"I said leave it alone," Harvey replies forcefully.

"Oh no," Mike says, snapping his fingers. Harvey lifts his gaze as Mike momentarily puts a finger to his lips. Harvey is not amused by the Sherlock Holmes act. "You slept together, didn't you? Emotions were running high and you had a little too much to drink and-"

"No, that's not what happened," Harvey interjects with a grumble. Harvey settles back into his chair, a dejected feeling washing over him. He lightly shakes his head, lifting his eyes to Donna's cubicle. His temp is getting fired when she gets in. If Mike gets to work before someone else, they're late. Harvey sighs then and looks towards his laptop screen again. "Are you going to get any work done today?"

"Fine," Mike concedes, lifting his hands in a non-threatening manner, "But I'll find out through other resources if I have to."

"Good luck," Harvey replies dismissively.

* * *

He was a dick.

He was being a dick for reasons he doesn't care to explain to anyone, but he's thought about it all day. The office lights are dim. Even his office is dark, no longer illuminated by the sunny skies that act as a backdrop to the city skyline. Everyone else has gone home, the incessant chatter of business no longer reverberating against the walls.

His gaze drifts to the stain on the carpet. He hadn't thought about that ugly stain or that unfortunate evening that set all of this into motion since he got back from visiting Marcus. He still doesn't know why he kissed her or why the urge to do so has become more prominent, for that matter.

He chides himself because he knows if he continues being a dick to her then he won't even have the very minimal opportunity to gaze at her. He absently wonders if she would quit if he were to fuck up. Would she turn her leaving into a resounding goodbye? He hears it then, _I'm leaving you, Harvey_ playing in his head like a fucking broken record.

It hurts his head (or his heart) but either way he doesn't like the way it sounds. There's no good in any of this. And her turning it into a goodbye is even worse. He can't handle the thought of losing her any more than he already has lost her.

The shadows dip in his peripheral vision. The swan song of the shadows rings as the resilient motion of hips and arms invade it. He can already hear what it'll sound like if he doesn't keep the day from ending like they're strangers – it sounds like a fucking disaster.

He pushes himself from his chair, the hinges creaking as the spring bounces into action and the wheels etch across the carpet until it collides with the wall displaying all of his keepsakes, and follows her path. Her red hair plays coy in the shadows, teasing the light at the ends, and he gets a taste of the natural order of things. Her walking away; he follows for once.

He thinks the elevator must have been waiting there for her, just for her, just so she could flee the scene so quickly that all that's left of her is the taste of her perfume in the air. His legs carry him quickly, soles of his shoes sliding on the transition from carpet to tile, and he grunts in response as he reaches out to keep the elevator from closing. He pushes against the metal until it peels itself back open and he slips inside the box.

He briefly glances at her as she moves closer to the wall. He turns slowly, his shoulder nearly touching hers, the warmth of her hand radiating against his skin. They stand there, still and quiet for a few moments, his breathing echoing inside of the box against the still, stale air of her breathlessness. He slowly reaches forward and hits the button for the ground floor. He exhales slowly as the doors slide shut.

The enclosure begins moving, gravity jolting his arms into movement and making his hand brush against hers. He reminds himself to breathe, still not certain that she's actually breathing in the space beside him. He absently licks his lips and lifts his gaze to the digits at the top of the metal casing glowing the floor number. They still have plenty of floors to go.

He swallows, the sound of his saliva echoing loudly in the coldness of the elevator. He says, "I was a dick."

He sounds too quiet even to himself. He almost can't hear himself over the mechanical grating of the elevator moving. He doesn't look at her, but he can finally hear her breathe though. She exhales, her body seemingly relaxing because the back of her hand touches his. His eyes close slowly as he turns his hand over, turns it quickly, and hooks his index finger around her pinky finger.

"Yes," she replies shakily.

He doesn't know what comes over him. He braces himself, finds his courage, and presses his palm against hers. The webs of his fingers rest against the bases of her fingers as he slides his long digits between hers. She doesn't flinch. He can't even tell if she has a reaction at all. He holds his breath. He counts to 10 before he shifts his gaze towards her, barely seeing the blurred contours of her face.

"Your new boss was just pissing all over my shoes to remind me that you don't work for me anymore," he says.

"That's-"

"No excuse," he interjects. He drops his gaze to the ground, the elevator seemingly moving faster now. She still doesn't retract her hand. It feels warm beneath his. He wonders if she's sweating, if this is awkward for her or if it's making her nervous. "I know. It made me angry. I feel like I've lost everything."

She squeezes his hand then. He tries to remember the last time he held her hand and comes to the conclusion that the last time, he was buried deep inside of her, the ghost of her lips beneath his. His breath hitches in his throat for a moment, the need for her overwhelming. He turns to face her but she doesn't return the gesture. He thinks she has more sense than he does.

He hooks a finger beneath her chin and slowly forces her to look at him. He watches as her tongue slides over her slightly parted lips. She loosens her hold on his hand but doesn't pull away. He searches her face for what she might want but her expression fails to give him a signal.

He moves forward, his face inching closer to hers, and he feels her warm breath on his wet lips as her lips part in anticipation. He can feel the softness of her lips against his, before he even touches them, but he stops as he feels the elevator come to a stop. He slowly pulls away as the doors slide open and he disentangles his hand from hers.

She sighs then. He can't tell what it means. Without contact with her he feels like he's missing something, like what he wants is just too far away to touch. She moves away from him, towards the lobby, the heels of her shoes echoing against the tiles. He follows her down the corridor, their steps in sync despite the fact that he is a step behind her.

Once they are outside, he braces himself for her departure, but she hesitates. She stops in front of the building; he mimics her movements, the street quiet now that everyone has gone home. She says, "Louis isn't the enemy."

"Everyone feels like the enemy right now," he admits.

"I didn't leave because I was mad at you. I left because I can't keep pretending there's a chance for us when you don't feel that way about me," she replies.

He sighs then, wondering how she could say that given how obviously desperate he is to be near her. He swallows. He says, "I never said I don't feel that way about you."

The urge to kiss her is stronger now than it was days before. She smiles but it doesn't touch her eyes. It hurts him to think that it's his entire fault. All he says is, "I didn't know. You told me we couldn't ever talk about it – us – again, and all I wanted was to respect you. You're more important to me than anyone else and I never want to disrespect you."

"We still work together, Harvey. I still have to see you every day. I obviously can't keep my feelings towards you from influencing my actions, whatever my feelings are," she admits.

He nods slowly and says, "It's the same for me. I never wanted what we had to be ruined."

"We needed a change," she replies.

"Good night, Donna," he says. She nods slowly and turns away from him. He's tired of watching her walk away from him.


	7. Revolving

_**Here I am updating the fic I thought I would never update because IT HIT ME. #blessed**_

* * *

_This is it_, he thinks, _this is how their story ends – with 12 good years and the failure to launch._

If this is the way it ends, he has a lot of regrets. They all begin and end with her, with the way she kept him away but always pulled him in. She's the reason he's spent the last decade confused, thinking that she only wanted them to be professional. One some levels, she had to know – she had to know that she means more to him than anyone, that he would do anything for her, that she is an exception, that he fights for her the only way he knows how while still respecting her wishes.

He always knew he loved her in some way, in the best way he knows how. He knows her. He knows her better than he knows anyone else. And she knows him better than anyone else. All he ever needed from her was just the slightest hint that she would let him love her. He was always content having her in the way he did and as long as he had her, he had everything.

He is sitting alone again, the moisture from her lips still sticking to his as the ghost of her breath is pressed against his mouth. He wishes he had kissed her when he had the chance. He wishes he could take a few things back.

* * *

Why does the session have to be scheduled so fucking early in the day. It should not be the first thing on his agenda to show up in Louis' office with Donna sitting just a few feet away typing away at the keyboard while intermittently looking into the office. If she's listening in, he will know.

Harvey figures he can just let Louis and this JC Penny Paula lady do all of the talking and he will make it back to the quarters of his office safely. The less he has to say the better anyway. He's sure Louis will try to bait him to say something. Louis is always antagonizing him.

His palms are hot and he rubs them against his knees, trying to clear the sweat off of them. It feels like they've been in this office a lifetime, but Paula doesn't even have her stereotypical notepad out to take notes as Louis rambles aimlessly about all of the ways Harvey has probably been an asshole towards him over the years. This is perfect. Harvey knows Louis will paint him out to be a villain. All the while, his secretary is sitting in front of Louis' office.

"Let's get started," Paula finally says. Harvey checks his watch in an effort to inform her that she wasted a lot of time getting her shit in order. He really has no patience for people whose shit is not in order. If she's supposed to guide them into some bullshit best friendship thing she should definitely be in order by now. She smiles warmly and says, "So, Harvey. Do you mind telling me what that was about Thursday morning?"

His mind immediately goes to the moment with Donna in the elevator. His gaze flicks to the redhead, her chin tilted towards him, before shifting back to the woman in front of him. He shrugs and wraps his palms around his kneecaps.

He swallows and says, "I don't really think there's anything to tell."

"Well, my secretary-"

Paula's hand lifts upright to stop Louis before he can go any further. She says, "Please, let him speak."

Louis' mouth gapes open for a moment, the hinges of his jaw almost squeaking as it closes. Harvey stifles a laugh. He loves when someone puts Louis in his place. He loves watching Donna do it more than anything.

"Well," Harvey starts, pausing to look at Louis nervously. He doesn't really want to talk about this at all, let alone in front of Louis. He looks away from the thief and at the woman currently staring him down. He sighs audibly. "His secretary has been my secretary for the last twelve years until recently."

"Was that your decision or hers?" Paula asks.

Harvey sighs again. "I had no say in the matter," he admits. He lightly shakes his head and proceeds to roll his eyes. "It doesn't matter. She works for him now."

"And Louis," Paula says forcefully, turning to address the stubby man. Harvey's gaze follows hers and he notes that Louis looks flustered. He contributes it to a number of things. She smiles for a prolonged amount of time. She continues, "Why did Donna decide to come work for you after twelve years of working for Harvey?"

"I asked her to?" Louis says. It's posed as a question.

Harvey's mouth turns downwards and he looks at Donna. She's looking into the room, no doubt trying to figure out what they are discussing. He doesn't know how to look at her knowing that she is keeping their topic of conversation on a track she decides it needs to be on. But he can't look away from her and she doesn't look away from him.

Harvey sees Paula look down at her notebook and write something for a few moments out of the corner of his eye. He keeps staring at Donna, challenging her to look away first. He wishes he could say more. He needs to be in her good graces again. He needs her to listen to him, to let him finish his damn thought.

"Harvey?"

He blinks twice before sliding his gaze back to the owner of the voice. He licks his lips, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, and he wipes his palms on his pants again. He quirks an eyebrow, completely unsure of what he is being asked. He looks at her pointedly.

He swallows again and says, "What?"

Paula smiles. "Why do you think-"

"He poached my secretary?" Harvey finishes for her. He glances at Louis then looks back to Donna who has already returned to her work. He looks back at Paula with a pointed smirk on his face. He's fine, really. "Well, she's a valuable partner to have. I'm certain she's spent the last twelve years being courted by countless potential proprietors."

He looks at her again, just to gauge her reaction. Part of him hopes she's listening, that she hears the words coming out of his mouth. It would make things a lot simpler if she were. Instead, she has no visible reaction and he knows then that she isn't listening in. She does not turn on the intercom for Louis. At least some things remain sacred.

"So why do you think she finally took the bait?" Paula asks.

Harvey shrugs then, painting on his best smile. He says, "We needed a change."

Even he doesn't believe it.

* * *

Rachel must be at school. This is a conclusion Harvey has made on his own strictly because he hasn't seen her all day. In fact, he can't remember the last time he saw her. He's sure he made her uncomfortable because he was staring at the rock on her hand the entire time specifically not commenting on the status it implies.

Truthfully, he doesn't know why he hasn't at least congratulated Mike. Regardless of his hard hearted demeanor, Mike is his friend and on any given Sunday Harvey wouldn't hesitate to congratulate him had Donna not, well, packed up her desk and took up residence with the enemy. It's really no surprise that he drove into the arms of another man, all it took was a moment of clarity and half a bottle of wine before he pushed her right to the edge. Serves him right…probably.

So when Mike comes in with a jolly hop to his step and a slight smirk on his face, Harvey gives the kid a pass. In fact, he has decided to give boy wonder and Rachel a week to prance around arm and arm with cheesy looks on their faces. That's what Donna wants – him to be nice and congratulatory and give them a honeymoon period. So he'll do it, even if it only pushes the knife into his back harder.

"I found it," Mike says, "I found the document that will save our asses."

"Your ass," Harvey corrects. He's impulsively decided to hand this case over to Mike because the life in his eyes is surely more interested in working than Harvey is. In fact, he doesn't feel like doing much of anything other than getting drunk and maybe visiting the coffee cart guy. "I'm sitting this one out. You're taking first chair."

"What? Really?" Mike asks, clearly taken off guard.

"Let's get lunch to celebrate," Harvey says.

"Are you feeling okay?" Mike's face looks flush, like he's suddenly come down with the flu.

"I'm fine," Harvey replies. He stands and buttons his suit jacket. He pushes his chair in, the leather material warm from the sunlight beating against his chair all morning. "I'll let you pick the place."

Mike, confused look intact, leads the way to the elevator and as Harvey follows he tries not to think of the other night when she let him hold her hand. He can almost swear he sees a flash of red hair as he gets on the elevator like she's headed to the elevator, but he must be seeing things. His eyes drift closed as the elevator doors shut.

He wishes she would let him in.

* * *

He feels like he can't breathe. His chest feels tight. The words of the menu become a blur right before his eyes. He can't focus. He can't even think. The atmosphere of the restaurant is too loud, too bright, too…something he can't quite put his finger on. It's too hot. That has to be the problem. He's sweating. He has to be sweating.

He lifts his hand and wipes his brow, hoping to push whatever glistening sweat is on his skin away, attempting to wipe away the evidence. He swallows, blinks, looks a little harder at the menu. Whatever he's doing isn't helping.

His heart begins to pound in his chest. The thump against his ribs causes a small, sharp pain just above the bodily organ. He wonders for a moment if maybe he's having a heart attack. The breath constricts in his throat then and his fingers begin to work at the knot in his tie. He loosens the knot just enough that the material isn't tight against his throat, but he doesn't feel any relief at the motion.

He reaches for his glass of water on the table, his hand shaking as he does, but his hand slips and misses the sweating tumbler. He knocks it over, the water spilling out across the table as metal clanks to scream out the sound of a crashing mess coming to fruition as the cold, clear liquid spreads over the expanse of the table. Harvey looks up just in time to see Mike pushing himself to his feet so fast that he almost falls over but the kid is able to maintain his balance.

Mike slowly turns into a blur and breaks into two figures. Harvey suddenly feels like he's going through a tunnel as he claws at his chest, all sounds and voices are hollow sounding in the far away distance. He leans back more into his chair, bracing his weight there, and stretches his palms way out across the table. His fingers flex, absently tapping on the cloth as he hears Mike call out for help.

"No," he hears himself mutter, "Don't."

He isn't entirely sure what Mike said, but he's going to protest it until the very end. He has a feeling that Mike is in panic mode because the kid likes to jump to conclusions and he doesn't like where this is heading. Mike's lips are moving but Harvey can't hear his words. He's currently using all of his energy to sit upright and he can't bother protesting again.

The scene before him fades to black despite his blinking and all he can hear is noise.

* * *

He slowly peels his eyes open. The room is cold and stale, the air still and it chills him to the bone. He blinks a few times before he can deduce that his mind isn't actually playing tricks on him and the familiar red hair splayed across the crisp white sheets is actually real. He feels her hand wrapped around his and it's the greatest comfort he has ever felt in his entire life. His eyes slide to the wide window behind her, the darkened sky making him wonder how much of his day has actually been wasted.

"Hey," he says gently, throat hoarse from lack of use. He squeezes her hand for good measure and it's only then that he realizes her cheek is resting on the back of his hand. He reaches across with his right hand and lightly touches her on the head, his muscles tense in his arms and shoulders. He emits a groan before trying again. "Hey," he repeats, fingertips rubbing against her scalp, "Donna."

He doesn't know why he's whispering when he is trying to wake her up, but he squeezes her hand again in an attempt to gently rouse her. She perks up, her fingers tightening around his hand in return before she slowly rises upright like one of those creatures in the Michael Jackson "Thriller" video. She is slow to comprehend anything – for a moment he wonders if she even knows the hand she's holding belongs to him.

"Hey," she says softly, stretching as subtly as her tired frame can muster without letting go of his hand. It only takes her the amount of time to stretch before he sees her facial features do a complete 180. She says, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Don't look at me. Mike has a habit of panicking. He jumped the gun and called for an ambulance," he replies in defense.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

He stares at her, blinking, as she squeezes his hand tighter. He narrows his gaze on her, studying her. His mouth slowly slides into a smirk. "Are you trying to tell me that you were scared?"

"No shit," she counters.

"How did you even know?"

"Mike called me," she answers dismissively; "They had to sedate you, Harvey. You wouldn't stop screaming at him. You gave him a black eye, by the way."

"Shit," he says, "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine," she replies with the wave of a hand. She sits a little straighter, her hand still clinging on to his, and crosses one leg over the other. His eyes slowly trail to the movement of her legs as she tucks her feet under the chair. "Now, I want to talk about you."

"I was having a heart attack," he says defensively.

She gives him a blank stare. He feels like she's mocking him as she stares at him down the bridge of her nose. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and he can tell she's trying not to laugh. His face falls in annoyance.

She says, "Harvey, you had a panic attack."

"Great," he says dryly, rolling his eyes for full effect, "If it wasn't that big of a deal, why are you still here?"

"I spent all afternoon here because I didn't want you to be alone when you woke up," she explains, "I still care about you, Harvey, regardless of what you may think."

"I keep trying to tell you how I feel and you keep walking away before I can," he points out. She sighs and leans forward, absently tracing patterns in the back of his hand as her eyes pull away from his. She looks away from him like she's afraid to meet his eyes. It absolutely breaks his heart. Thank god he's already in the hospital. "Donna, it isn't fair for you to ask me questions you don't actually want to hear the answer to."

"I can't take the back and forth anymore," she replies, "I just want to move on."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we need to stop kidding ourselves. I'm not in love with you. You're not in love with me. Whatever this is between us," she says, gesturing between them, "It's over."

"I don't believe that," he retorts.

"Which part?" It sounds like she's challenging him, like she's cornered and she's throwing punches to get her way out.

"All of it," he says evenly.

"Believe what you want to, Harvey, but I'm done," she says just as strongly.

He nods slowly but grasps her hand tighter anyway. He realizes then that he can keep trying to say how he feels but if she keeps walking away then it's all for nothing. He feels a panic rise inside of him as he prepares himself for her to get up and walk away, but contrarily, she doesn't – she just leans back in the chair lets a few tears fall over the brims of her eyelids. She was crying before, her red eyes tell him so.

He doesn't say anything for the longest time, just resolves to let the silence settle between them as he mulls over how he's supposed to react to this scene. He wants to scream at her and tell her that he's tired of her shutting him down when he's so desperate to give her everything she could ever want. Maybe she's right. Maybe he isn't in love with her. But he does know that she's the only person he's ever been ready and willing to give it all up for and that has to mean something.

* * *

"Why are you here?" Her voice cuts through his thoughts after minutes of complete and utter silence. Her office is so far off the busy streets that he can't even hear the faintest indication that life truly exists in the world.

He's lost in thought, truly lost in the words that Donna spoke to him just the night before. He's spent the last few hours thinking about what she said, about how she told him she's done, and he feels like maybe he's losing her. There isn't anyone else for him and he knows that.

He sighs and shrugs half-heartedly. His hand is bruised from where they had hooked an iv beneath his skin because they said he was dehydrated. Donna had stayed for a little while, but they'd made her go home. Her tears had made him believe that everything she had said was a lie.

He shakes his head finally and says, "I had a panic attack."

"When?"

He sighs then, bringing his knees closer to his chest as he folds his hands in his lap. He answers, "Yesterday, at lunch with my associate. Well, one of my associates. They're getting married."

An eyebrow arches on her forehead and her mouth thins. "Your associates?"

He gives her a small nod. "I've been kind of a dick about it since Donna left."

"You said yesterday that the two of you needed a change. What did you mean by that?" He only just now realizes that she's been scribbling on a yellow pad, etching away at the paper, carving notes about him into the thin material. He would scowl angrily if he had the energy, but instead he feels his shoulders slump a little more. He shakes head slowly and gives her a shrug as an answer. "I want to help you, Harvey, but you have to actually communicate your feelings."

"What do you want me to say?" He replies. He didn't get any sleep after Donna left him alone in the hospital and when he was released this morning, he came straight to Dr. Agard's office wearing the khaki pants and shirt Donna had gotten when she stopped by his condo. He sighs off of the woman's look. He says, "Look, Donna told me we needed a change so I accepted that she wasn't happy with the situation anymore."

"And that's when she left you for Louis?" The woman clarifies, scratching at the paper again. It annoys him.

His eyebrows knit together then, annoyed that she would suggest such a thing. He huffs and wrings his hands together before pushing his palms up his thighs to settle on his knees. He says, "She didn't leave me for Louis. She left me for her. I just let Louis think that she left me for him."

"And why do think she left you for herself?"

Harvey squints then, his lips tightening at such an invasive question. He's only known this woman for less than 3 full hours and she's already trying to know everything about him. He doesn't understand how this relates to anything. This is personal. But then he thinks about what Donna said about letting people in and it makes him nod slowly.

He resituates himself on the couch, tugging on the thighs of his pants to busy himself, and he says, "She means something to me. She means…more to me than anyone else ever will. So I told her that I love her because I care for her, because I wanted her to know."

"To know?"

Paula's voice hangs in the air like she's baiting him to finish his though. He immediately sighs. He says, "That I love her."

"In what way?"

"In all the ways that matter," he admits. He feels himself tuning everything else out as he thinks about what that means. Over the years he has thought it. He's thought about how she is everything to him, how he doesn't want to do it without her. Numerous times he's thought _god, I love you_ but he's always stopped himself before saying it. He swallows the lump that's gathered in his throat. He says, "I have to go."

He doesn't wait for a response from the therapist sitting across from him. He just gets onto his feet and excuses himself from the conversation. He can't take this anymore.


	8. Condemnation

Finally coming to a store near you, an update from me

* * *

His mail has stacked too high on his kitchen island. He hasn't been bothered by it enough to actually break into it and it's to the point that he doesn't even want to tackle it. He's pathetic enough to need emotional support checking his mail. He sidesteps the phone a friend option and goes straight to the bar for a glass of scotch. He pours two fingers of the auburn liquid and considers filling the glass entirely, but ultimately decides against it.

With his liquid companion in hand, he returns to the kitchen island for his mail and moves to the couch, his body beginning to cramp from exhaustion. He thinks about what Donna's hand in his felt like, how her skin felt soft and comforting like he could conquer the world. He thinks they've already done that just without the physical contact. He'd like to try more of the physical contact.

He thinks that in a non-sexual way. He'd like it if she let him brush his hands against hers, if he could run his hands through her hair, if he could feel her cheek beneath his fingertips, if she would rest the weight of her on his chest. He wishes he could wrap his arms around her and protect her better. He takes a long sip from his glass before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and pushing his fingers into the stack of mail.

He realizes then that all of the bills he hasn't remembered to pay without her have stacked up and that he clearly needs to get with her to clarify what all he needs to do. He had easily forgotten all of the things she did to micromanage his life both professionally and personally due to the habitual years of their non-traditional partnership. His non-reflective manner and lack of responsibility obviously indicates that either his awareness of how easily she has worked her way into his lifestyle is lacking or that he just truly doesn't know. He doesn't even know where to begin repaying her.

That, and the ways he wishes he could repay her she probably is innately adverse to. Not to mention that his recent enlightenment regarding his own feelings towards her has been difficult to swallow. The difficulty, however, mostly arises with the uncertainty of whether the feelings have just always been there buried deep beneath everything else or if this is a new development. He knows he'd buried it long ago at her request, but he's hit a space that's cozy with a hard place and rock bottom.

He doesn't know how to define lines with a woman who has repeatedly told him she doesn't want to be around him and that she's done with him. However, her actions contradict her words and that keeps perpetually sending him into frenzy. He can't even fully determine what exactly caused him to have a panic attack in the first place. Maybe it was the idea thrust upon on him that change had been incorporated in such a way that he won't even be allowed to love her in their own unconventional way anymore – ever.

He can't directly ask her what she wants with him at this point, not with the way she's been holding his hand so tight while she tells him that she's done with him. He doesn't believe it when she says that though, and he doesn't think that she does either. Part of him wonders if she's challenging him – challenging him to give her a clear answer. He doesn't want to put himself out there for her to just reject him, but maybe it's time he just makes her sit down, shut up, and hear him out for once. That's all he wants out of all of this.

As he finally gets to an interesting piece of mail with his name written in a very familiar scrawl, he feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he pulls the envelope towards him and abandons the rest of his mail. Sliding his index finger beneath the flap, the envelope pops open to reveal a cream colored piece of paper. He pulls out the piece of paper to look at it and he sees the lettering at the top – _Engagement Announcement for Michael James Ross and Rachel Elizabeth Zane_.

Donna arranged all of this that much he is sure of. She decided on the venue for the engagement party, decorated it, and probably even acquired the caterer while putting together centerpiece arrangements herself. He's seen her action, years ago when her sister got married and she played the role of wedding planner. She can pull off some rather miraculous shit.

He decides then and there exactly what he's going to do tomorrow.

* * *

He spots her from a distance – red hair and navy blue dress – against the skyline in his office and he believes for some stupid reason that she could be there for the reason he actually wants her to be. He allows himself to believe that she was lying when she said she was done, was lying about it every single time, that she wants everything and is ready to sit down to define what everything actually is. He's holding his breath that is actually what is going on.

He isn't halfway down the corridor before his entire demeanor changes though. He sees some woman sitting at Donna's desk, her desk accessories scattered all over like she's just all moved in and ready to stay there awhile. His face drops, his shoulders slump, and his stupidity makes him kick himself right there. This is not at all what he wanted.

His steps slow to a halt as she notices him, her nervousness seeming to peak as she stands a little straighter. Her jaw tightens only briefly. In the past it has meant that she's gaining the courage to tell him something that she doesn't want to tell him. He hasn't even heard her speak and he already doesn't like where this is going.

He stares at her long and hard as he comes to a halt beside the new woman at her desk. Slowly sliding his gaze to the new woman in place, he squints and zeroes in on her. He does not want her to feel like he had a choice in this matter.

"Who are you?" He growls.

"I hired her," Donna says. He whips his head towards her and sharpens his gaze on her shapely form, her fingers absently tapping away at the glass doorway of his office. She stands on her toes, like she's ready to flee at any moment. "You needed a secretary, Harvey."

"You don't get to decide who replaces you, Donna," he fires.

She shakes her head lightly. She says, "Harvey, that-"

"No," he interjects forcefully, "Don't make me sound like some unwelcoming asshole just because I'm tired of you deciding for me that we're over. You're irreplaceable and, as far as I'm concerned, we're never over."

He turns sharply on his heel then and breaks for the stairs, leaving the two women in his dust trail behind him.

* * *

He sits impatiently in the waiting room of Paula's office. He suspects that her office is in her home but he doesn't dare ask, just taps his fingers together as Paula's desk clerk smacks her gum with her mouth open wide. The woman has no class.

Just then, the door to Paula's office pops open and she smiles tightly. He thinks she's slightly annoyed for yet another impromptu visit for the second day in a row and she's doing her best to play nice. He's almost sure he's going to be forced to start paying her out of pocket.

"Come on in, Harvey," she says politely.

He nods slowly and pushes himself to his feet so he can follow her into her office. He taps his fingers on his thigh as he walks, a movement to keep his hands busy. She gestures to the couch as she takes a seat in the chair across the coffee table. He sits down with a huff.

"What brings you into my office?"

"Donna," he replies, "She hired a new secretary on my behalf."

"You sure do talk about Donna a lot," Paula says.

"Well," Harvey starts, but pauses in his response. He doesn't know how much he should indulge, not that there's much more to say on the matter. He did tell her that he loves Donna less than 24 hours ago. "We worked together for a long time. I guess I just thought she would come back to work….eventually."

"Yesterday you told me that you love Donna. Do you think that you're in love with her?" Paula questions him.

"How can you tell that you're in love with someone?" He asks, gently, almost quietly. He thinks that his question doesn't quite touch her ears. He feels like he's in a tunnel, separated from the rest of the world, with a chaotic mess between them. "I don't think I have a clear understanding of what love really is."

"Love is different for everyone. Love can be originated from many different aspects as well. I don't think there's a certain way to define love. Can I ask you a question, Harvey?" He sharpens his gaze on her form, her stupid smug face suddenly gone as she looks upon him with sincerity. She doesn't have the customary notebook out like she's treating this session with care and understanding. Despite the fact that this feels more like Sunday brunch with a long lost sister, he gestures with open palms for her to proceed. "Have you and Donna ever been intimate?"

Her question bothers him. He doesn't understand how this is relevant to the issue at hand, not when he's so befuddled about her leaving and hiring a new secretary after deciding time and time again that they are over. He just wants to put an end to this madness. He's tired of her not being there for him. He's always been there for her.

"Once," he says. He's so tired of fighting that he can't do anything but tell the truths of their history to a strange woman when he'd typically tell her that it's none of her business. After all, a contract between a doctor and a patient is legally binding. He can't meet her gaze, like he will see the judgment in her eyes. "It was a long time ago. When I asked her to come work for me at the firm, she told me that we had to put it out of our minds."

"And you just accepted that?"

"Well, yeah," he replies with a shrug, "I would have done anything she asked me to. I loved her then."

"You love her now," Paula points out.

"She thinks I don't," he says, "She's been pushing me into the arms of other women for years. I don't understand her."

"Why would she think you don't love her?"

He sighs, all of the air in his lungs evading his chest, and says, "I don't know. We spent eighty hours a week together."

"How many of those hours did you spend not working?"

"She wouldn't let me have her any other way so I accepted that we had everything and she left. I stayed and she didn't. I'm not running away from this."

Paula smiles then, mouth soft and encouraging. She says, "Then stop letting her run away."

* * *

"Shit," he mutters at the sight of a figure in his living room, sitting on the floor in front of the lit fireplace and listening to an old record. Only two people know where that record is: him and Donna. The first conclusion that Jessica had once again allowed herself into his apartment was dead wrong. The figure belonged to Donna. "What are you doing here?"

She nearly jumps, obviously lost in the setting and his walking into his own home scared the shit out of her. She slowly turns her head to look at him. She says, "You stormed out this morning and never came back."

"I've been waiting outside of your apartment for the last two hours," he reasons.

"What?" She gets to her feet then, shorter than he remembers. She's probably shed the heels and is barefoot in his living room. The thought brings him joy. "Why?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he replies. He feels nervous suddenly, his palms sweating as he peels his coat off and drapes it over the back of the couch. He pushes his open palms down his thighs, trying to rid them of the dampness gathering there, and he releases a shaky breath. Her eyebrows furrow in response but she doesn't say anything. "I was wrong for leaving this morning."

Her face relaxes. He thinks her lips flex into a brief smile, but he attributes it to wishful thinking. She says, "I'm listening."

He looks for her hands just to place where they are. He watches her fingers dance around each other, twisting against one another at her abdomen. She's nervous, but she's listening. He expels a breath in an attempt to calm his own nerves.

"No matter how hurt my dad was when my mom left, he still kept setting her a place at the dinner table like she was going to come home. After everything she'd done to him, he still missed her being there. I was upset because I've been holding on to this stupid idea that you would come back," he says. He's standing behind the couch now, his fingers resting gently on the back of it as she stands on the other side. The piece of furniture between them seems so much larger than he remembered at the moment. "I'm tired of you telling me that you're done when we've only just started."

"We've known each other for thirteen years," she mutters like it's breaking news.

"I am in love with you. I know you don't believe me and you don't have any reason to, but I am – I always have been. For as long as I can remember you've been everything to me. I need you in my life," he declares; he wonders if he's too quiet, if maybe she doesn't hear him, if she's even breathing at this point, "I won't let you keep walking away."

"I'm not coming back to work for you," she announces.

"Okay," he says with a small nod, "That's fine. I have a secretary."

"If you're telling me all this because you think it's what I want to hear, because you think I'll come back to work for you, then you're wrong," she counters. She nods slowly anyway as she lifts her knees onto the couch and closes the space between them. Her fingers splay out over his and she gives him a long look. "I'm happy where I am, with Louis. I'm not going anywhere."

He turns his hands over beneath her touch, the softness of her fingertips making him shiver as he looks down at their hands. Her deep blue nail polish is pronounced against his skin. He isn't sure he'll truly ever get used to her touch. He traces the outline of her form, every bend in her structure from her fingertips to her lips. He wants to kiss her but he doesn't know if he should.

"I just want you to be happy," he says quietly.

She shakes her head then, chuckling softly in the back of her throat. "Are you ever going to kiss me?"

"Is that why you broke into my apartment? You wanted me to kiss you?"

"Shut up and kiss me, you idiot," she fires back.

He slowly leans forward then. Her breath is warm on his mouth, the way that her fingers are folded into the material of his sweater making his eyes drift closed, and the fingers of her other hand are slipping beneath the hem of his sleeve to slide up his forearm. He thinks he feels goose bumps prickling his skin. He does it then, kisses her lightly. Her lips feel the way ice cream looks before the cold hits, smooth and inviting. She responds slowly, parting her lips slightly as she tightens her fistful of his shirt.

He tilts his head as he deepens the kiss, his hand coming up to her wrist and circling the roundness of her prominent joint. His thumb sweeps over her pulse point as he holds her hand in place, keeps her thumb pressed against his sternum. Her tongue darts out in a flick against his lip, and the movement prompts him to widen his mouth more. He reacts quickly, his tongue reaching out to touch hers.

Her fingers hook around his elbow and pull his arm forward, instructing his hand forward and only coming to a stop when his fingers press against her hip. He feels the bone beneath his fingers and he pushes his thumb into the material of her navy dress. He clutches the material of the dress by her hip. She pushes her hand up his chest until she's touching the back of his neck.

He feels her warmth surrounding him but he doesn't even feel close enough. He pushes his hands around her waist and engulfs her in his arms, her arms circling his neck. He leans forward in an attempt to close the space between them, slightly saddened that he can't feel the full length of her pressed against him. He pulls his lips from hers long enough to tug her towards him over the back of the couch.

She's taken off guard as she sighs deeply and her feet hit the floor. He immediately pins her between the back of the couch and himself, his lips descending upon hers once again. The tip of his tongue immediately touches hers as he comes to the realization that she is even shorter without her heels on, a height difference he wasn't quite expecting. The pads of his fingers press into the small of her back, teasing the exposed skin where her dress cuts into a v and hangs dangerously lower than he can imagine being appropriate enough to pass for work attire.

He immediately thinks of all of the times he's caught a glimpse of rarely exposed skin and the way he always wants to bend her over the desk in those moments. Not that he'd stand a chance with his glass walls or anything, but not for lack of wanting. He kisses her harder, digs his nails into the soft skin at the small of her back as he brings her as close as he can be physically allowed. Her fingers push into his collarbones in their movement to his cheeks, her palms stroking the slight stubble lining his jawline.

He has to pull back so he can take in a deep breath, the space between them enough room for him to get a good look at her. Her eyelids are still fluttering, her lips are slightly parted, and her skin is still warm beneath his fingertips. The artificial flame from the fireplace highlights the ends of her hair and he becomes breathless in the moment.

He can't even form the words to tell her how beautiful she is.

* * *

He feels something weigh heavily on his chest. Peeling his eyes open to have a look at the cognitive dissonance, he sees the most heavenly vision become clear right in front of his eyes. Her hair frames her face, her pert lips teasing a smile at the corners of her mouth, and for a moment he convinces himself that it's all in his head. The pressure against his sternum lessens but he captures her wrist before she can get too far away.

He swallows a small strain in his throat, and says, "Where are you going?"

He sounds hoarse even to his own ears. Her smile slides wider across her face in response. He realizes there's a crick in his neck and sits upright. He must have fallen asleep on the couch somewhere between the beginning and end of the _Star Trek_ reboot. He's never actually seen it in its entirety. There's always something missing in reboots, but he's sure Captain Kirk's philosophies remain the same throughout.

She uses her other hand then to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She says, "I'm going home."

"Stay," he replies, fighting a yawn.

"I don't wake up looking this gorgeous-"

"Bullshit," he interjects before she can continue.

"That's very sweet of you to say," she concedes, "But, contrary to what you may believe, all of this takes a lot more effort than just rolling out of bed in the morning. My wardrobe and war paint are at home so I need to go where the supply stays."

"What time is it?" He asks.

"Almost one," she answers, standing upright and pulling her wrist from his grasp.

"Let me grab my coat."

"Nonsense," she replies sharply, "You're tired."

"Shut up," he says evenly, pushing himself to his feet with a yawn, "There is no way I am letting you cross town alone at this hour."

"I'm a grown adult," she huffs.

"Maybe so," he says with a shrug, tucking his hand beneath her elbow and pulling her closer to his side, "But I happen to like you and I'll see to it that you get home safely."

"Fine," she says, forcing a scowl onto her face as she feigns annoyance. He rolls his eyes in return and shakes his head. Reaching for his jacket on the back of the couch, he is surprised when she reaches up and slides her hand through his hair. She says, "You have some wayward hair."

"You don't have to fix me," he says gently, although stilling beneath her touch.

He slides his gaze over to her and their eyes lock. He stares at her for a few moments, her mouth falling into a frown. She's either embarrassed or shy and he's only seen each of them a handful of times in all of the years he's known her. He purses his lips in a silent apology.

"Habit," she finally reasons.

"I've just thought a lot about what you said these past few months and," he pauses there, sliding his jacket onto his shoulders and turning just in time to catch her doing the same. He stops her before she can proceed; wrapping his hand around the collar of her jacket and holding it open for her, she slides her arms into the arm holes and lets him drop the material onto her shoulders. He offers her a smile when she turns back to him but she looks at him with suspicion. He adds, "You've given up a lot for me. Let me do some things for you now."

"So you think we're okay now?" She asks.

He fights off a shrug; he replies, "I think it's a start. Now, let's get you home, Red."


	9. Controversy

_This is a sorta big chapter with just a little bit of movement forward, or a lot. Thanks for reading. I hope it's everything you hoped for._

* * *

He clutches the flower stems tight in his grasp as he pulls the door to the restaurant open. He's met with a mostly empty establishment as a hostess greets him with the expectation that he's with the engagement party and directs him to the back of the restaurant, beyond the empty tables and to a more private area. It's a restaurant he's never heard of, undoubtedly chosen carefully by two women who thoroughly love food.

He isn't the first to arrive even though he's early, eager, there are a few other slightly recognizable faces gracing the glow of the room. His eyes immediately find Donna, the supremely elegant white dress complimenting her red hair, and he thinks she could easily be mistaken for a bride-to-be. He hasn't seen her since he drove her home earlier that week because she's been out taking care of things for the engagement party as he gets more accustomed with the new secretary so graciously in his presence.

He enters the room relatively unnoticed with only a small nod of acknowledgement from Robert Zane and a few gazes from strangers. He feels like he's barely stepping on the floor in his _Cavalli_'s as he approaches her. He could instantly spot her in any crowd. The red of her hair looks pronounced against the pristinely quartz white walls that resembles a kitchen countertop.

As he gets closer, he notes that her dress has the slightest hint of a cream shade. He grins at the realization that he made a wise choice of suit and tie. His own suit is black. His shirt is a finely pressed white. His tie is black, white, and gold striped.

He reaches for her elbow with his free hand and lightly presses it against the knob. His fingertips curl around her joint as the wrist of his other hand comes into contact with her shoulder. He still doesn't know if this contact is allowed but he doesn't care anymore – he's tired of waiting to touch her with the reminiscent belief that one day, one day, one day he can. He leans forward, his hand sliding up her arm as he presses his lips against her smooth skin at his thumb.

"Hey," he says softly, "You look beautiful."

He's quiet enough that Rachel nor Mike notice him at first, quiet enough that as she lifts her hand to cover his fingers it is still a private moment between them. However, before she can say anything, Rachel's eyes widen in surprise and she is gaping at him. He pauses like a deer caught in a pair of brighter than bright headlights. He doesn't know what he should do.

"Harvey," Rachel squeals, "You shouldn't have."

The eagerness of the law student, associate in training, bride-to-be, is fully encompassed in the aggressive way she snatches the bouquet of flowers from his hand. His fingers flex as his hand follows her movement but she is gone before he can even react. Mike's hand is clapping against his back as Mike follows Rachel in whatever direction she disappeared to, and Donna turns beneath his fingertips so he is no longer touching her. His hands drop to his sides.

He says, "Those were for you."

"They were beautiful, but all gifts belong to the bride," she replies, reasonably.

He nods in understanding wishing that she weren't so reasonable sometimes. He had carefully chosen the arrangement to represent their past, present and his hopes for the future like some over-romanticized version of himself from a loving home might have. Part of him would have loved to see her fight to keep them. She keeps her hands to herself. It's driving him crazy.

"I should have brought a better gift," he muses.

"I think she was pleased with the thought," she admits.

"I was thinking of you," he reasons.

Just then, someone comes up behind him and moves straight towards Donna. The man, barely shorter than Harvey, dressed in gray slacks, a white shirt, and a silk black vest walks up to Donna and kisses her cheek. Harvey watches on, no longer able to comprehend their conversation, and his face contorts into a scowl of sorts. He's not happy with this most recent development.

He feels the annoyance boil within him. Annoyance that she would kiss him and proceed to bring a date to a function where everyone he knows is present, laughing at him like he's a fool. And maybe he is. Maybe he's always been the fool standing by and allowing the woman he loves to be within feet of him without ever letting her know how he truly feels. Maybe he's always been the foolish one.

He forces himself to smile at her, the way his lips are so tight that he seems sad clearly giving him away when she tilts her head on slightly. He makes a move to step away and leave the pair alone but she catches him before he can leave. He stills beneath her hand on his arm, her palm sliding down to his hand as she entangles her and around his. He feels like an idiot.

"Harvey," she says sweetly. Just like that, he's drawn back into her and he can't look away. He feels like he's on display, like he's the before dinner show and everyone is there to watch him become more and more flustered by her attempts to keep him hanging on by a thread. She says, "This is my brother, Jonathan."

"Ah, the infamous Harvey," he says with great enthusiasm. Harvey doesn't know how to respond so he just shrugs hap-hazard like. His slight embarrassment of jumping to conclusion creates a flush against his cheeks. Jonathan smiles the same winning smile he sees on Donna's face and says, "I've heard so much about you."

Harvey throws his shoulders back and smirks at once, casting a glance in Donna's direction. He gives a quick nod, slowly shifting his gaze back to Jonathan. He says, "It's nice to meet you."

He keeps the information that he's never seen a picture of the man and heard very minimal about him under wraps. He suddenly realizes that there's so much about herself that Donna keeps quiet, only meeting her parents on two separate occasions (both of which he would say were total disasters). Jonathan lets go of Harvey's hand slowly but surely as Harvey watches Donna loop her arm through her brother's. Harvey was hoping he'd get a little more of her to himself than this.

"My brother helped me get us into this place," she reveals. He sighs gently. She used to use his name to get her into places. Her shoulders slump a bit. She says, "Seems that Louis' name doesn't quite get me as far as yours so I had to call in a favor."

"You could have still used my name," he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Harvey," she practically sings, "I'm not a liar."

He half smiles and shakes his head in amusement. He finds the irony in her statement because he's found that she's constantly lying to him. She lies to him about her feelings, about what she wants, about what she expects from him. He knows she's lied her way into very threatening situations only to turn around and lie her way right out of it. He knows when she's lying. He'd just hoped she'd never lie to him.

"Come on, Donna," he says, smirking, "We're more than just colleagues."

"I wouldn't say that," she baits.

He lifts a hand to his chest in feigned shock and says, "That hurts my heart."

"Excuse me," Jonathan suddenly interjects, "I just saw a handsome fella over there that I'd like to meet."

They both watch Jonathan slip into the crowd of people and head towards someone Harvey is pretty sure he recognizes. His shoulder bumps against hers as they both watch her brother walk away. Jonathan strolls right up to the guy, Harvey recognizes him slowly as the guy from I.T.

"Wait," Harvey says, "He's not-"

"Yes," she stops him with a hand on his arm.

"But he-"

"Is gay," Donna insists, "Trust me."

He nods in understanding. He's afraid to look away from Jonathan approaching Benjamin because he's alone with her. They're in a crowded room but now he's alone with her. Now he can look at her and see that she is looking right back at him.

"Did I mention how beautiful you look?" He asks, softly.

"You aren't even looking at me," she replies. He briefly feels her shoulder brush against his as she's turning towards him out of the corner of his eye. He slowly shifts his gaze to her, letting his eyes fully sweep over her frame. "You like it? I used your credit card."

"Of course I like it," he replies, turning towards her. He offers her a grin. He wants to reach out and touch her, but he doesn't know for sure where they stand yet. He hasn't seen her in a few days and didn't want to make her feel obligated to see him when she was so tired from her role as wedding planner. He can't help himself as he reaches out and gently fondles the material of her dress by her shoulder. "It's…nice. Worth whatever amount I paid for it."

"To making things right," she says.

"Put a drink in my hand and we'll toast to that," he replies.

"Lead me to the open bar then, Sir," she counters, slipping her arm into his. He inhales a sharp breath at the unexpected contact, but happily welcomes it. He didn't know she would be so willing to make physical contact in front of nearly everyone they know, not after to so long of not touching. Regardless, he leads her to the bar per her request. She leans against the bar and motions two with her long fingers. She says, "Two scotches, please."

Not for the first time since he's met her, he openly stares at her with a grin gracing his widened mouth. He can't stop looking at her as she casually leans against the bar waiting for their drinks, and he isn't sure why he's such an idiot for waiting so long to give them a try. He swallows a thick film of saliva at the base of his throat as he slides just a tad bit closer to her and drops a hand to the small of her back. His thumb sweeps over thin material there, his hand shaking slightly against her. He needs to get his nerves in check. No woman likes when a nervous man touches her.

She casts him a cheeky glance. He pulls his hand away from her and settles it on the bar counter. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"Did you want to be my date to this thing?" She asks, smirking as she turns to face him. "I mean, Jonathan is my official date. But unofficially?"

"So you mean sit beside each other at a table and make fun of everyone else behind their backs?" He teases.

"Well, we were going to do that anyway. At least this way we call it a date," she replies as the bartender sets their glasses on the counter in front of them.

He wraps his hand around the glass in front of him. He turns to face her, still leaning heavily against the countertop with the glass tight in his hand. He kicks his foot out, lightly settling it between her feet. She inches a bit closer to him, her hands meticulously reaching up and toying with the knot in his tie. He absently wonders if it's a habit or if it's an excuse.

"I would love to band together against all politically incorrect social norms that make an appearance here tonight," he replies.

She nods gently before she abandons his tie and lets her hands slide down the lapels of his suit jacket. He's pleased when she leaves her hands there for an unprecedented amount of time. She seems a little more comfortable with physical contact than he expected she would be.

Her hands trickle down his torso. Her hands absently play with the point where his jacket meets just at his diaphragm. She looks smaller suddenly. She says, "I've been thinking a lot about what you said."

"I've said a lot over the years," he replies. She looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow. She looks nervous; she looks both amused and unamused at the same time.

"That you're in love with me," she reiterates.

"That is a factual statement. Not only did I say it, but it was also the truth," he explains.

"You are the only person I know who could make this sound like a legal agreement," she replies with a sigh. A smile toys on her lips so he knows she's teasing him. She shrugs playfully and lightly shakes her head. She says, "Lucky for you, I happen to love you in spite of that."

"That's a big word, Paulsen," he says. He lifts his hand to her hair and tucks a loose strand behind her ear. His fingers absently brush along her jaw bone all the way to her chin. He can't help looking at her lips, imagining himself kissing her right there in that room. "I propose we seal the deal."

"What deal are you referring to?"

His hands sweep down her arms, trails beyond her elbows, and come to rest on her hips. He doesn't even know for sure how long he's wanted to have a moment like this with her. It's only increased since she last kissed him days ago. There's certainly a lot between them that has gone unsaid and he thinks it all needs to be said tonight.

He tilts his head to the side, grinning as he stares deep into her innocent gaze. He says, "You know the deal to which I am referring. _Us_. We're the deal. I'm going to kiss you now, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. In fact, I encourage it," she replies.

He leans forward then and captures her lips with his own. He pushes his hands around her waist and pulls her more into him, a sequence of movements that comes naturally for him but seems to inhabit a different connotation with her than has ever meant with anyone before. His tongue flicks against her lips, but he doesn't want to convey that want. Right now, he just needs to kiss her, to taste her lips and tongue. Her lip gloss sticks to his lips but not in an overwhelming way, more like in a light varnish that says _Donna was here_.

He finds himself to smiling against her mouth, his hands pushing up her spine as they roam over the expanse of her back. Her own hands have slid to his back, palms and fingers holding him close. A light tapping of metal against glass causes them to pull away. Instinctively, he keeps one arm around her as he leans back against the counter and turns his attention towards the rude interruption. She keeps her palm flat against the muscle of his lower back.

"I'm the soon-to-be bride's father, Robert Zane. My wife, Laura, and I would like to thank everyone for gathering here in celebration of her. Mike too, I guess. None of this could have smoothly come together without Rachel's coworker, friend and maid of honor, Donna," Robert announces, point towards Donna. Everyone slowly shifts their gazes to look at her and subsequently him, standing so close beside her with his arm around her waist like they've been doing this forever. She waves nervously, a reaction he's never seen from her before. "Donna, thanks for making all of my baby girl's dreams come true. Now, I know, usually that toast goes to the groom, but Mike has been busy holding the fort down at home while Donna has taken the reigns wedding planning. Trust me, I would stay as far away from wedding planning if I were him. I just wanted to thank everyone for coming while also reminding you that it's an open bar for you, but not an open bar for me. Please go gentle on me. Let's celebrate!"

The words have barely left Robert's mouth and Harvey is already scanning the room for Louis. He doesn't doubt for a second that everyone knows something is going on between them, and Louis has never been one to butt out of his business. He braces himself when he spots Louis across the room, quickly determining that he has about 75 seconds of Donna to himself left. He sighs heavily but stop midway as he feels Donna's hands wrap around his hand. He looks over at her.

"Stay close," she whispers to him. He can feel her breath seep over the cartilage of his ear that causes him to shiver. He squeezes her hand in response, thumb settling between two of her knuckles. "I might let you kiss me again later."

"Are you propositioning me?" He accuses, a smug look crossing his features.

"I'm simply asking you to be my date," she replies.

"Unofficially," he adds.

"It's official," she corrects.

"Okay," he replies with a grin and a nod, "I'll prepare myself to be eaten alive."

Her hand wraps around his upper arm as she turns slightly on her heel to grab a glass off of the counter. She hands him a glass of scotch first before turning to grab the second one. She clinks their glasses together, the ring somehow louder than the muttering crowd that surrounds them. He thinks everyone is talking about them.

She says, "To the most handsome date in town."

He grins at that and takes a drink from his glass, her fingers digging into his arm as she takes a large gulp. When she sets the glass down on the counter, he notes that her eyes are watery from the burn of the scotch. He sets his glass down on the counter and pulls his arm out from her grasp, reaching his hand over to the small of her back.

"You alright? That looked like a big drink," he remarks, "That stuff is bitter."

"Just trying to get this party started," she replies, "It's been nice knowing you, Specter."

He looks up and at that exact moment he finds himself face to face with Louis who is slightly sour faced. Harvey is neither interested in knowing why his facial expression indicates disgust nor does he care about hearing the man's opinion on the subject matter. So, in return, he shoots Louis a glare and slips his hand further around Donna's waist to rest on her hip. He's being overly possessive, he knows, but he feels like she's been encouraging the behavior since the moment he said hello. Regardless, he hasn't seen her since he drove her home a few days ago and they have plenty of details they need to iron out. Like, what exactly his role in her life is.

"Donna, You look absolutely stunning, gorgeous," Louis purrs, taking her hands in his while giving Harvey the side eye, "I thought your brother was your date for the night."

"I actually have replaced him with Prince Charming over here," she says to Louis, "I believe you know this handsome devil."

"Right," Louis grumbles.

Louis is clearly still tiffed about their inability to come to an agreement during those meetings with Dr. Agard. If only Louis knew the amount of times Harvey has consulted with her outside of their mandatory meetings, Harvey is sure Louis would be pissed. It doesn't take much longer for Jessica to congregate with them herself and Harvey is relieved of the tension. He's sure their current status of touching is the elephant in the room after all of the years of hands folded over one another, much to his discontent.

Somewhere between dinner and dessert everyone at the table clears. Everyone has been gathering around Donna for most of the evening, not only because of her magnetic personality but also because everyone has been complimenting her ability to throw such a great engagement party together. She takes each compliment with grace but a hand on his sleeve to keep him from wandering off. He really isn't the type to hang around a large group of people when he isn't at the center of attention, but he manages for her.

Louis, on the other hand, has managed to tag along pretty closely. He's sat to her right almost the entire night, even when Jessica made herself scarce a few minutes ago with the afterthought of _"leaving you two crazy kids alone" _while shooting Louis a warning glare. He either ignored the look or is completely oblivious. Harvey always knew that the balding man had the slightest of crushes on Donna.

He swallows his pride and leans towards her. He says, "Would you like to dance?"

"No one is dancing," she replies, skeptically.

"So," he says with a shrug, "Then we'll dance alone."

"You make a compelling argument," she says, dismissively.

It's all in fun though as she slips her hand into his. He stands and leads her to the empty makeshift dance floor. He's sure that she had intended some people would want to dance because all good parties, galas, charity events (from what she's told him in the past) includes dancing. So, he takes her to the open space and slips his hands into their place, at her hips, while she places her hands on his shoulders. It's only then that he realizes the song belongs on the very same record of his that she scratched.

"Funny how Miles Davis is a constant in our relationship," he comments.

"I didn't mean to," she replies with a pout.

He grins as he rocks them to his right. Her hands naturally slip from his shoulders to the back of his neck. It makes him feel like she's becoming a little more at ease with the situation. Her fingers dig into the back of his neck, little fingerprints being left on his skin, and he wonders if she's nervous. She's seemed fairly confident throughout the entirety of the night, unless everyone's eyes are on them. He realizes then she's scared of what everyone thinks.

"You know," he starts, "Everyone here thinks I'm your boyfriend."

"Aren't you?" She replies, without missing a beat.

"Then why do you seem nervous?" He asks, "You're Donna. You never get nervous."

"You've always made me nervous," she admits.

He watches her cheeks flush again and it prompts him to smile. He says, "You're blushing again. I don't think I've ever seen you blush."

"Stop teasing me," she warns him.

"I'm not teasing you," he corrects, "I just think it's…cute."

She nods her acknowledgement and purses her lips tightly together. He feels her sigh against his neck even though they aren't pressed that closely together. They still look like they're trying to keep their distance, like they aren't too comfortable in the spotlight just yet. Harvey watches her breathe a sigh of relief as Mike and Rachel join them on the dance floor.

She says softly, "About the other day, with Gretchen, I overstepped and I shouldn't have."

"It needed to be done and I wasn't taking the initiative, so, it's okay," he says with a shrug, "I want you in my life, Donna. I know I haven't been very forthright about it, but I just thought you didn't feel the same way. Feelings are very confusing for me."

"You're a good man, Harvey," she replies. He nods slowly, not quite believing it but accepting that she's never thought anything different of him. Maybe he was never really good at verbally expressing it, but he's always appreciated her in his own way. She pokes him in the chest then and says, "But you don't need me to tell you that."

Her hand slides down his chest, slipping in the space between his arms, and slides around to his back where the bottom of his rib cage meets his spine. He inhales a sharp breath. He says, "I've loved you for a long time. I just never knew how to tell you that."

"Do you want to walk me home?" She replies.

"Right now?" He asks, doing a quick scan of the room as his eyes widen; he says, "Before dessert?"

"I have something," she answers.

"I'll meet you outside," he says, taking a step back and turning on his heel.

He slips through the crowd of people and steps outside, sneaking a glance at the time on his phone. He notices that it's a little late but the party is still going inside. His phone vibrates in his hand with a message from her across the screen of his phone that says _Just looking for my brother to tell him goodbye_ but it's immediately followed with _Nevermind, he already left_.

He counts to 30 before the door pushes open and she steps outside. Her purse is in her grasp as he breathes a sigh of relief, burying his hands into his pockets. He offers her a smile while holding his elbow towards her. She takes the proffered arm, slipping her hand around the crevice of his arm.

They walk in silence to the corner where she slides her fingers down his arm to rest on his wrist, right in the opening of his pocket. His heartbeat fastens and he thinks she can tell just how quickly it's beating. He's never been much of a person who makes romantically physical gestures, but he pulls his hand out of his pocket to slip his fingers between hers. He's always known she was different and he realizes he should treat her that way.

"I'm surprised you were able to ditch Louis," he states.

She laughs as she steps down into the street to cross at the crosswalk. All it takes is one long stride and he's in step with her. She squeezes his hand. She says, "You'd be amazed at how clueless he can get when talking about the ballet. He was so happy talking to Laura."

"Rachel's mom?" He clarifies.

She nods quickly. They walk in silence for a few minutes, more than halfway to her apartment now, before she stops him in the middle of the street. He's confused by the abrupt stop, but when she turns to him and flips her hair over her shoulder as she tilts her head, he just doesn't care. His hand reaches into her hair, letting the curls wrap around his fingers. He's entranced by the redness in her hair. He's seen her over a thousand times, but there's something different about watching the locks wrap around his digits. The color hasn't faded since the last time his hands where in her hair.

"Your hair is so…red," he comments.

"Harvey," she says, amused, "You've seen me almost every day for thirteen years."

"I haven't seen you for two days," he refutes.

"Awe, did you miss me?" She teases.

"I did," he replies with certainty. He stands a little straighter, eyebrow quirking on his forehead. He shrugs then, sliding his hand down her shoulder and letting it come to a stop at her elbow. "But you ruined it."

"Shut up," she says with a laugh, grabbing his lapels and pulling him closer. Her lips land on his but it's more casual than the other kisses. She pulls back just as quickly as she'd kissed him and he feels his lip form a pout in response. "Get me home, Specter."

They continue their walk to her apartment. Her arm has slipped back in his and she's leaning more heavily against him. Part of him wonders how they've gone so long with so much distance between them. They are just a few blocks from her apartment. He can feel his breath tightening in his chest as they get to her apartment. She smiles reassuringly as she unlocks her front door.

"Aren't you going to come inside?" She asks, reaching for him.

He takes her hand and follows her lead. He says, "You always say that when you want to have sex."


	10. Sensibility

She kisses him with a loud thud echoing throughout the apartment as she drops her purse to the floor. Her hands slip to his sides, fingers curling into his suit jacket as she tugs him forward. He jumps into action at the movement, stepping forward hard as his body bumps hers backward. He uses his hands to catch himself from crushing her against the wall, his body simply pinning her there as he crashes his lips against hers. She moans softly into his mouth, the gentle vibrations wrapping around his tongue.

Her mouth parts beneath his. He kisses her harder, wider, tongue sliding out to graze over the edges of her mouth. He feels her hands pull up his sides and press against his sternum. That's when he realizes her fingers are working at his jacket buttons, moving so slowly down his torso as he pushes even more off of the wall to give her better access to the buttons. Her tongue touches his forcefully and, damn he'd forgotten how good at multitasking she is; she pushes his jacket down his arms, her fingertips digging into every muscle on their trail.

He shivers beneath her touch, slamming his body into hers again as he drops a hand to her face and cups her jaw. Her hands skate over his ribcage, finding a loose place in his shirt and pulling it out from his pants. A gush of air hits his skin and he's suddenly very angry at himself for wearing so many layers of clothes.

She pushes at his shoulders. He pulls back, his mouth missing hers already, and steps backwards as she moves forward. The back of his knees hit the couch as she gestures for him to sit. He nods slowly as he does as he's told. She quickly straddles his lap, her thumbs digging into his jaw as she angles his mouth towards hers.

She kisses him hard, tongue sliding over his bottom lip. He doesn't feel like he could get her clothes off fast enough, especially when she is taking her damn time just taking his shirt off. He leans forward and reaches behind him, grabbing both shirts in his grasp as he tugs it upward. She pulls away from his mouth long enough to help rid him of his shirts, tossing them somewhere on the floor at his feet.

Her mouth descends upon his again, hands beginning to roam over his bare chest and stomach as his palms push up her spine in search of the zipper on her dress. He finds it and pulls the zipper down until it stops just above her waist. He easily slides his fingers over her skin, her flesh warm to his touch and her bones prominent beneath his fingertips.

She pulls her mouth away from his to inhale a sharp breath, her chin tilting upward with the movement. He looks up at her elongated neck, eyes tracing every curve of her throat, and he can't help kissing her there. His lips drag over the smooth flesh of her neck, teeth lightly nipping at her collarbone as his fingers find the neck of her dress and he tugs downward. Her breasts are nearly spilling over the rim of her black, lace bra as he plants kisses across her skin.

His tongue sweeps over the excessive amount of breast peeking out of her bra before he nips at the soft skin there. She yelps at the surprise, a gently giggle echoing in his ear as she presses her hand against his forehead. She kisses him lightly while she stands, the dress immediately falling to the floor and pooling at her feet. He stares at her in awe, the glow of the moon highlighting her pale skin.

She extends her hand to him, fingers wiggling in the space between them. He takes her hand and stands to his feet just so he can be closer to her. She turns as he closes the space between them, her back towards him now. He catches her by the waist with his free hand, his lips finding her shoulder. He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, her soft hair pressing against his face.

He pulls her back towards him, prying his hand from hers as he secures her in his embrace. He slips his hand along her ribs, tapping out an old song he listened to on repeat in his youth, continuing to push his hand further down her stomach. His fingertips slide over the waistband of her panties, his mouth and teeth licking and biting at her neck. He hears her inhale a deep breath, her hand snaking into his hair.

He smiles against her skin as he pushes his fingers passed the waistband, fingertips sliding over her pelvic bone. She moans softly, her fingers tugging more at his hair, and he feels a tight constriction in his pants. He dips his middle finger into her entrance and presses it into her bundle of nerves. This prompts her to take in a sharp breath. The noise drives him mad, as he turns her to face him, both of his hands leaving her. He kisses her instantly, wrapping his hands around to the back of her thighs and lifting her from the ground.

He carries her towards her bedroom, his memory retracing the path. Her calves wrap around his waist as he hears her tall heels fall to the floor, her tongue sweeping over his slightly parted lips. Her fingers dance along his collarbones, his hands sliding up her back when he crosses the threshold to her bedroom. His knees hit the mattress and he lightly sets her on the bed. His fingers search for the clasp of her bra, the ridges of the clothing prominent as she distracts him with her tongue.

Her hands find the button of his pants and she pops them open. Her hands tug at his pants and he pulls her bra off to throw it somewhere in a corner of the room. He tries not to openly gape at her as his hands trace her cleavage and dip between her breasts. She works his pants over his hips and his pants fall to the floor. He kisses her then, his thumbs sliding over her pert nipples as he pushes his palms to her hips. He pushes her back a little, thumbs hooking around her panties and pulling them down her thighs.

He kicks off his shoes and his pants, her hand wrapping around his neck while the other pushes at his boxers. With just one movement, they are evenly clothed and she's tugging him forward. Her fingers press into the muscle of his back and he kisses her. His hands push up her thighs, parting her legs only slightly. He hesitates there, sighing into her mouth as he presses his forehead against hers.

"Do you have…protection?" He mutters.

"Yeah," she replies breathily, pointing to her nightstand.

"Don't move," he replies.

One hand rests on her knee as he reaches to the drawer and digs through it in the dark. At that moment, her fingers wrap around his erection and starts pumping. He inhales a breath in surprise and slips his hand further up her leg. He finally finds what he's looking for and attempts to force the drawer closed. He turns his attention back to her, kissing her as she pries the condom from his hand.

Her hands leave his flesh to open the packaging, and she slides the condom onto him. He hums softly as her hands smooth slowly all the way up to his shaft before she grabs him by the hips to pull him towards her. He settles between her thighs, the tip of his dick teasing over her opening, and she bucks her hips. He smirks against her mouth, fingernails digging into his skin to show him that she's frustrated.

Her lips slide over to his cheek and she releases a hearty breath. His smirk is gone now and replaced with him tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. He pushes into her then, the sound of her breathing echoing down his spine and baiting him. She gasps and claws at his back. He settles there, waiting for a few moments to readjust to him. Her hands slide down his back and smooth over his ass, silently pleading with him to make small waves. He sighs as he lightly presses his lips against her jaw, hands smoothing down her thighs.

He rocks against her, his hand slipping into the space between them, and he presses his thumb against her clit. He digs his hips into hers, her soft skin waning on his lips as he pulls back to breath her in. He gazes at her as she thrusts upwards, meeting him fervently. He buries his other hand into her hair, leaning into her neck as she whispers into his ear –

_Don't stop_

_Harvey_

_Please_

And the sound of her muttering his name makes him come undone. He groans. Her hands press into his back, fingers slipping between his ribs as she arches her back. He drops a kiss to her collarbone, his mouth lingering there as she squeezes her eyes shut. He keeps a rhythm against her moving slowly inside of her until her nails dig into his skin. His tongue darts against her skin as he quickens his pace. Her knees widen more, allowing him to enter her deeper as she moans sexily in his ear.

"Jesus," he mutters shakily.

His hand abandons its place between them in search of her hand. He finds himself pulling back to look at her, to study her beautiful, red hair spread across the mattress behind her head, and to entwine their fingers as she rolls her hips against him. He thrusts deeper, her muscles contracting around him as she comes with a gentle cry. The noise hits him in his chest, a wave of emotions bursting within him. He squeezes her hand tighter as he reaches orgasm shortly after her.

He can't form thoughts that translate into anything coherent. He isn't even sure that he's been breathing for the last few minutes. She sighs, her knee sliding along his leg as her other hand draws lazy shapes on his shoulder. His breath entwines with hers, his hand loosening its grasp on hers.

He slowly disentangles himself from her, reluctantly leaving her there alone on the bed looking so beautiful. He goes into the bathroom for a few moments before returning to find her sitting up, pulling the sheet over her. He involuntarily pouts, reaching to the floor for his boxers. She sees him and offers him a smile, slipping out from beneath the sheet.

"Where are you going?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing.

"Bathroom," she replies with a shrug.

He reaches for her, hand slipping around her waist as he pulls her into him for a kiss. He watches her go into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked behind her, and he sits on the side of her bed. He waits for her, tapping his fingers against his knees, before he throws himself back onto the mattress. She re-enters the room. He peels his eyes open and looks at her. She's wearing a bathrobe and has the bathroom light on. She closes the space between them, sliding a knee on either side of his legs. He sits upright to meet her, his arms sliding around her waist. Her hands cup his face, thumb sweeping over his cheekbone.

He could do this forever.

* * *

There is something about having her so close to him that intoxicates him. He can't stop touching her, like his brain doesn't believe this is really happening and if he does stop he will forget. He never wants to forget this. Something Louis said weeks ago still rings true for him – _tell the people that you love how you really feel_. Maybe that's where he always went wrong, not telling her how he really feels.

Part of him had been reluctant to say anything for fear that she would deny him. The other part of him had wanted to respect her rule even if she waived it time and time again for other men. He knew those wouldn't last, that they were just all temporary, flings that would be gone at any given moment. He wanted to last regardless of whether he was able to give her what she wanted or not so he wasn't willing to take that chance.

He would love her from a distance and be content about it. Until that night, he had never known that she wanted more from him. Until she had cornered him with questions about how and what everything means to him, he had never known. He didn't know how to translate his feelings for her into love. But lying there, now, with her head on his arm and her fingers drawing circles on his chest, he doesn't know how his feelings for her could ever translate into anything else. He had kissed her for hours, for what felt like hours, but it still didn't feel like enough to make up for lost time.

He doesn't know how to make up for lost time. That's when he says, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She asks, palm flattening against his skin as she lifts her chin to look at him.

He turns beneath her touch to face her. His hand settles on her thigh as she slips her leg over his while she shifts just a bit closer to him. Her nails scratch along his skin just over his side, soothing shapes being etched into his flesh. He can feel the warmth radiating off of her and he thinks of all those nights in his apartment that he slept alone in pants and a long sleeved shirt. She's so warm, he wouldn't have needed that. She's so warm he never would have wanted to get out of bed.

He knows that he owes her an explanation of some kind, that he can't just give her an open ended apology without defining exactly what it is in regards to. His hand slips down her leg to rest in the bend of her knee. After all of the years of not touching her, he feels like if he doesn't touch her then this won't be real.

He swallows. He says, "For not loving you enough."

"Harvey," she starts, but she pauses and lets her thought hang in the air.

"Donna," he says, filling in the air for her, "I could have made some kind of declaration or fought for you or something. Even if you turned me down at least you would have known how I felt. At least I would have known how I felt. When I asked you to come to the firm with me, it's because I couldn't imagine my life without you. That's what I should have said."

"We were young and stupid," she replies, dismissively, "We're different people now."

"But we're still good at the sex," he says.

"Yeah we are," she says with a grin. Her fingers stop moving as the pads of her fingers press into his ribcage in an attempt to pull him closer. He smiles at her, his hand pushing up her thigh and stopping where the robe begins. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," he replies with a light shrug.

She slips out from beneath his touch, his hands feeling bare without her skin beneath his fingertips. His gaze follows her as she pushes herself off of the mattress and moves towards the bedroom door. He sighs softly at how short her robe is, the back of her thighs bare for him to see. He feels his breath constrict in his throat as he begrudgingly moves to the end of the bed to follow her. He follows her trail, a shiver skating through him at the cold, night air.

He picks his undershirt up off of the floor and pulls it on over his head. By the time he rounds the corner to her kitchen she's bent over and digging through her refrigerator, half of the contents of the appliance sitting on the counter. Crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his shoulder on the doorframe, his gaze trails over her long legs and back up the expanse of her, studying her frame. He swallows thickly.

"Let me help you with that," he finally mutters, crossing into the kitchen to close the space between them. He reaches for some things in her hands as she smiles graciously. She pushes the items into his large hands, a small nod existing in the air between them. "What are we making?"

"Scones," she replies with a quick shrug.

"Scones," he repeats with disbelief, "I don't trust your cooking after that dinner party."

"It was one time," she counters, her voice raising an octave. He recoils instinctively. She kicks the refrigerator door closed and shuffles the items from his hands to the kitchen counter. She turns to him suddenly, eyes with that particular glint in them that makes his insides feel warm. She smirks, her fingers reaching to toy with his shirt. She smirks; "besides, we can make a mess of my kitchen."

"Like _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_?" He asks, perking up.

"That would be the total destruction of my kitchen," she replies.

"Remodeling," he corrects.


	11. Benevolence

_**Hi, hello. I am currently debating about whether to end this story here or if I should keep writing it. On one hand, it would be beneficial to explore this from here, but it's possible that it could easily end with them getting together. Just because they've had a great weekend though, doesn't mean that this is how it ends. So, I really want to see your opinions on if you want this to keep going or not.**_

* * *

His shoes pound against the concrete as he slows his run to a brisk walk. He approaches her building, his jogging pants so warm now that they are sticking to his sweaty legs. He pulls open the front door and snakes his way up the stairs. He lets himself into her apartment, completely taken off guard when her television is at a soft hum with news reporters spouting off the daily stocks.

He was feeling too amped up and couldn't sleep so he called Ray (probably earlier than is respectful, but he promised the rest of the weekend off) to bring him over the bag in the trunk so he could go for a run. When he'd left her, she was still curled up in her sheets and asleep so heavily that she didn't even wake up when his shoes squeaked on the floor. He'd slept less than 2 hours and he felt better than ever.

"You know," she starts, rounding the corner from the kitchen with a hot mug of coffee in her hand, "Part of having sex with someone you love is getting to wake up next to them."

"I did that," he replies breathily, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, I didn't," she counters, setting the mug down on a coaster on the coffee table.

Her feet are still bare, but she's wearing his button up with a pair of silky pants. They clash but bring forth the best of both of them. He narrows his gaze on her nonetheless, like he's questioning her decision to wear a dirty shirt. He doesn't understand the sentiment.

He shrugs as he follows her path. He sighs dramatically. He asks, "Don't you have your own clothes?"

"Perks of having a boyfriend is getting to wear his clothes," she says, sitting into the corner of the couch.

"Boyfriend," he repeats, tasting the word in his mouth. He's never been a boyfriend before. He's dated mostly short term. Even that time he'd spent with Scottie had mostly lacked a definite title. He quirks an eyebrow at her, a reassuring smile painting her mouth. He decides not to dwell on the title too much. "Why would you want to wear my dirty shirt from yesterday?"

"Your clothes are more comfortable than mine," she answers coyly, "Now, will you sit your ass down and drink your coffee?"

"I'm all sweaty," he says, attempting to reason with her.

"Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours," she counters. _Touché_, he thinks. She leans forward a bit, reaching her hand out towards him. He relents, taking her proffered hand. She pulls him towards the middle of the couch and he promptly sits, the cushion bouncing beneath him. "Besides, I like it."

"You're disgusting," he replies, earning him an immediate slap at his shoulder from her.

He can't help the smile the graces his lips, her hand lingering on him there. He settles into the couch, her leg sliding over his lap. Her painted toe nails pop out against the coloring of his clothing. His hand finds her leg and slides up to her knee. He thinks they'd be a picture worth taking.

"Drink your coffee so you can shower and take me to breakfast," she says, her hand moving down his chest to his torso.

"If you don't stop, you'll need a shower, too," he says.

She smirks then – "Exactly."

He tilts his head to the side, drinking her in. Her hand effortlessly slips beneath the hem of his shirt and her long nails tap against his stomach. The sunlight catches in her hair and he can't stop staring at the way her skin is almost the most brilliantly eye catching thing in the room. He lifts a hand then, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters.

He watches a blush creep up her neck and touch her cheeks. He's watched many men tell her the same thing from a distance but she's never blushed. She always stands taller, makes herself larger as she paints on the most flirtatious look she can muster as she teases the man who spoke those words. He's never seen her blush. It warms him somehow.

"So you finally noticed," she replies, smugly.

"You've never needed me to comment on it," he says, "But I've always noticed."

She doesn't say anything. She leans forward and lightly presses her lips against the corner of his mouth. The warmth of her lips combined with the ghost of her touch causes a shiver to skate down his spine.

Nearly an hour later and they are finally filing out of her apartment building. He's about three steps behind her when she reaches for his hand. The movement is an unfamiliar one as he's not been one to really participate in public displays of affection. He's had the occasional closeness and definitely dancing, but he's never just held hands with someone as they crept idly along the sidewalk.

He wonders what it means that she's drawing him nearer while he's still waiting for permission to touch her. He doesn't think his reluctance is driven by fear. He isn't afraid to love her. He's loved her for as long as he can remember. He isn't afraid to open himself up to her. He's been open to her since the moment she strolled into his life and told him that it was his lucky day because he got to meet her. She was right, that much he's certain of.

But he's always wondered what was so wrong with him that she would barely give him the time outside of the office. They'd always flirted, bantered, trusted each other above all others. They'd grown closer to the point of no return but been afraid to blur those lines. He's always held back because he knew she wasn't ready. Or maybe he'd always just used that as an excuse.

He'd never really tried to move on from her. She was the opinion that he valued. She was the woman who held his heart. She was the comfort he needed when times got tough. There was never another person who could lift him up when things got out of his control.

He takes her hand then, sliding his fingers between hers and letting them entwine together, and there's something about her palm pressed into his that makes him realize this is different than anything else in his life could be. He stops close to the street corner and pulls on her hand. With the tug, she turns in front of him, her hair getting caught in the cool breeze, and faces him. Her eyebrow raises in a silent question. He hooks his index finger beneath her chin and tilts her head towards his. He leans forward, his lips meeting her warm mouth.

The kiss is brief as her confusion lands in the space between them. He's spent a long time burying thoughts of casually kissing her into the back of his mind. He likes the idea of nothing between them, all tension lost, all rules broken, no more lines drawn and anything a possibility. He smirks as she squeezes his hand as she pulls back and expels a wordless question.

"I've always wanted to do that," he admits.

She laughs idly and shakes her head. She doesn't ask for him to explain, just takes a step back towards the corner of the sidewalk and tugs him with her. He thinks that any other woman would ask for him to elaborate, would question his intentions, but she already knows what he means. One of his favorite things about her is that every word spoken between them isn't necessary, they are just filler. He considers saying all of the things he'd wanted to say but never did.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to hail a cab?" He finally asks after walking a few blocks.

He's up for walking if she is. It's a little cold out but winter is turning into spring and the wind isn't much of a chill. The wind is more of a breeze. She doesn't seem to be cold, her sweater and coat heavy enough to keep her warm, but she still huddles close to him. He fights a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as she wraps herself around his arm, walking even closer beside him.

"It isn't that much further," she replies with a light shake of her head.

He looks over at her. Burying his free hand into the depths of his coat pocket, he offers her a smile. A loose strand of her hair catches in the wind and hooks around her face. She looks beautiful even with the flaws in her appearance due to the wind. He doesn't think he's ever met someone quite like her. No one has ever caught his attention to the capacity in which she does.

He marvels how he'd never seen it before.

"I think you're going to love this place," she adds.

"I better," he says flippantly, returning his gaze in front of him to watch where he's going, "I would have preferred spending all weekend locked in your apartment."

"We have to carbo-load and hydrate," she counters, "Safe sex goes beyond condoms."

* * *

She sighs against his mouth.

He takes a mental note of the meaning, what it might mean in the thick of it all and the reason why she might be doing it. He wants to ask her what he did right to extract that reaction from her, but he doesn't want to jinx it. He laments whether it's his left hand settled at the small of her back or his right hand on her hip. He's distracted by the way that she sweeps her hair out of her face before pressing her fingertips against his jaw.

She laughs then. He adores the sound but the initial response confuses him. He didn't do anything to cause laughter. One hand roaming her hip and the other lingering on her waist line could have hit a ticklish spot, he supposes, but he doesn't know of her being ticklish in any spots near where he's touching. He pulls back just a little to look at her face for some indication of what has brought on her laughter. He gives up.

"What is it?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing as he loosens his grasp on her.

"Nothing," she answers dismissively, "It's stupid."

Her hand waves in the space beside his head before it comes to rest on his shoulder and smooth to his neck. Her fingers press into the nape of his neck where his hair stops. She tilts her head back only slightly, exposing her neck more to him. He wants to kiss her throat, to sweep his tongue over her neck where her collarbones start, but he doesn't. He pulls both hands to her hips, his thumbs settling just above her hipbones.

A smile spreads across his features. He swallows, considers nuzzling the expanse of her throat, but instead he steps forward. His feet stop on either side of her feet. He says, "Tell me."

"I'd just," she starts but stops. She looks down to the ground like there's a spot on the concrete beneath their feet that is particularly interesting. He sighs and lifts a hand to tilt her gaze back to his. His hand quickly returns to her waist as he silently encourages her to continue. "I never thought Harvey Specter would kiss me in Central Park."

"I'd kiss you anywhere," he replies.

"Don't go soft on me," she warns.

"I'm not," he says reassuringly.

"Doesn't it seem a little…unreal?" She asks.

"Let's go back to my apartment," he says, hands moving to grab hers, "We can talk."

* * *

He feels like the appropriate thing to do would be to offer her a glass of wine but it's barely past noon. He thinks of lighting a fire in the fireplace but it's so beautiful outside. She can barely sit still as she wanders to the floor length windows and looks at the patio longingly. It is nice outside, the first hint of spring in the air.

"Do you want to sit outside?" He asks from the kitchen.

"I think so," she muses. He realizes then that she doesn't have any idea how to get onto the balcony. He's lived there for years but she's spent minimal time there. He'd never realized there was such a prominent distance between them. "It might be a little chilly."

"I'll make some tea," he replies with a smile.

"Do you even know how to make tea?" She teases, turning towards him and closing the distance between them. She leans on the countertop close to him as he fills a kettle with water and puts it on the stove. He fires up the appliance and looks at her smugly. "I stand corrected."

"You're cute when you're wrong," he murmurs. He leans his hip on the counter beside her as he stands closer to her. He wants to reassure her but he doesn't know how. He gulps and says, "You called me your boyfriend."

"You told me you love me," she reasons. He nods there, a smile pulling at his mouth. He wonders how far back they need to go so they can hash this all out, how many of the little things they need to discuss before they come to an agreement that leaves past mistakes behind. Of all of the mistakes that were made, he isn't the only one at fault. "It's only the next logical step, don't you think?"

"Donna," he starts, knuckles wrapping on the counter behind her, "I, um, I can't lose you. You make me…better."

"You're a good man all on your own," she reassures.

"I don't think you understand, Donna. I've never wanted to disappoint you. That's why I've always stayed on the straight and narrow," he says.

"I wouldn't say you've been on the straight and narrow," she corrects with a grin, "But I have always had faith that your intentions are good."

The teakettle starts steaming and he moves to the cabinet to grab two mugs. He pulls down the tea flavors and lets her look over them to make her selection. He doesn't have as many flavors as a tea shop might, but he has a few that he knows she loves. He knows more about her than he lets on.

Once he pours the tea into two mugs, he presses a hand to the small of her back to direct her towards the balcony. He let's her pick where she wants to sit and promptly sits beside her. He watches her carefully as she looks out over the city. She seems to be observing the world, one of his favorite things about her. He lets the silence settle between them for a few minutes as she wraps her hands around the steaming mug.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" She finally asks.

Her gaze shifts from the sky and lands on his. Her brown eyes send something through him. He's always been afraid to look away from her with the years of strained contact.

He knits his brows together. He says, "Tell you what?"

"How you felt about me," she elaborates.

"Well, I," he stops speaking just as soon as he starts.

He swallows and looks down at the cup of tea, the steam catching in the wind and being carried away from him. He's asked himself numerous times what really stopped him from telling her that he wanted to kiss her, that he loved her, that he didn't just see her one way. He didn't know how to admit that he's thought of her ever since they were together that night years ago, that he's spent every night since trying to find something or someone to make him forget that one night with her. He'd sound pathetic saying all of that.

He lifts his eyes to hers again, her stare still trained on him. He nods slowly, setting the cup on the table between their chairs. He says, "You told me that you don't sleep with men that you work with. I wanted you to feel like I respect you."

"That's why you told me now? Because we don't work together anymore?"

"No," he admits, "If you had a reason that you didn't want to be with me then that was enough. I didn't want to complicate our relationship by telling you how I felt about you." She nods slowly and takes a sip of her tea. She doesn't say anything, even though he wishes that she would. She swallows. He watches her throat bob. He shrugs then and he says, "I didn't want to lose you, Donna. I thought that you would walk away from me if I told you that I loved you. Besides, what do I know about love? The only example of love I've ever had is some fucked up, heart crushing betrayal."

"I would never do that to you," she reminds him.

He nods slowly. He says, "I know."

"We're more alike than you think," she replies then. He tilts his head, confused by her response. He knows her well enough to know that there's more to it than that. He purses his lips together, conjuring the courage to say something, anything. "I tried to move on and forget that night between us. A lot. I wanted you to move on, too, so I could give up hope for us. I wasn't ready for commitment with anyone because all I wanted was for us to give it a try."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said," she interjects, "And that's on me. I should have said what I meant, but I was scared, too."

"So we lost twelve years," he says, pushing himself to his feet. He sits beside her on the chair, his right leg pressed against her left one. He lifts a hand to her chin and lightly presses his fingertips against her skin, slowly pulling her eyes to his. He smiles and tells her, "I don't want to waste any more time."

He slides his arm around her waist, knuckles pressing against the cushion of the chair, and she leans into him. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth to mask the smile meeting his lips. He hopes he's saying the right words but he doesn't know for sure. He's a little out of his element.

"What happens if we don't work?" She muses aloud, her hand finding his knee.

For a moment, he thinks she may not even be talking to him. Her fingers absently pick at his khaki pants, like she's experiencing a nervous habit inspired by him. He doesn't know how to answer her question. He doesn't want this to be the end of it.

"I'm going to make mistakes. You'll make mi-," he stops in the middle of his sentence off of her arched eyebrow and piercing gaze; he swallows the remainder of his sentence, "And if you're just as patient with me as you've always been then I think we'll be just fine."

"Because you love me," she says in a sing-song voice.

"And I want to be with you," he adds with a grin.

* * *

She meshes with the Feng Shui of his apartment. The sleek look automatically looks more inviting with her in the middle of it. She brings a homier feel to the place he's called home for years, warmth fluttering inside of him every time he catches a glimpse of her. He's always felt some spark every time they've touched, glowing embers every time he's looked at her, but he feels like the flame is burning brighter.

He would feel stupid to tell her that. He feels foolish, like he believes in humanity again, like the world is turning more slowly as though the universe is offering him more time to have her all to himself. He's on the cusp of chastising himself for thinking the universe has stopped being cruel long enough to offer him the tiniest rays of faith and hope. He must be a monster to place the value of the world on her shoulders. She must be the beauty and him the beast.

He opens a bottle of red wine that he's had stashed away for years. He doesn't particularly like red wine, but he knows she prefers it over white wine. He's held on to the bottle like it's some deranged belief that she will show up one night and he'll have the opportunity to use it. She probably doesn't even know the gravity of the wine. He pours her glass half full and leaves it sitting on the counter as he pours himself a glass.

He listens to her move about his living room, the heels of her boots echoing against the wood floor. He lifts his gaze to see her pluck the glass from the counter. The stem of the wine glass is expertly perched between her fingers. He sees her wander back to the windows as she watches the sun make love to the horizon with the impending mask of the night. He gaits behind her, able to see her out of his peripheral vision.

Her long fingers slide up the stem of the glass and he thinks of everywhere her hands have been. She lifts her glass to her lips, lets the edge of the glass rest against her bottom lip for the briefest of moments before she tips her head back and drinks the liquid in. Her throat bobs as she swallows.

"It's a beautiful view," she mutters.

"Yeah," he says, eyes still focused on her frame, "It is."

She glances at him over her shoulder. Their eyes lock and she turns on her heel to angle her body towards his, a grin easing across her mouth. She closes the space between them and slides her free hand to the back of his neck. He feels her hips lightly press against him. She leans back to look him in the eye easier, her hand holding the wine glass between them.

"You were staring," she finally says.

"Guilty," he murmurs. Her fingers dig into the back of his neck, nails digging deeper into his skin, and he sucks in a deep breath. She looks smug. He lifts a hand to her waist then, letting it push against her waistline before he tightens his grasp on her. "I can't help it. You're beautiful."

"Do you have any idea how many times I've wanted to hear you say that?" She replies.

"Well, I've thought it," he says with a shrug.

She lightly shakes her head, pulling him towards her. He complies with her request, leaning forward and capturing her lips with his own. Her lips are already parted like she's expecting his kiss and the warm welcome is even better than he ever could have imagined. He can't help himself when he sweeps his tongue over her lip, flicking it against teeth in the process. She responds hungrily, her other hand pushing to the small of his back.

The glass becomes unbalanced between them and falls to the floor, shattering across the wood in a sound that reverberates off of the glass walls in a terrifying manner. She jumps beneath his fingers, but he stops her from pulling away by reaching for her with his other hand. He feels her palms push against his collarbones.

"Leave it," he mutters.

"It'll ruin your floor," she reasons.

"I don't care," he replies.

He pushes forward and kisses her again, this time harder and more unrelenting. She tastes like cinnamon and he wonders if that's just the taste of her lips. Her hands grasp at him hungrily. He pulls back to look at her.

"Stay," he whispers.

"On one condition," she replies. He stares at her for a moment before he slowly nods his head in agreement. He gulps, nervous about the words that could come out of her mouth. She grins and says, "Let's get this mess cleaned up first."


	12. Preservation

Sorry for the delay. Anyhow, here is the update. I think I'm gonna keep going because it's fun.

* * *

He isn't particularly excited about this mandatory meeting with Louis, Paula and Jessica in Louis' office. The best part about the meeting is that he can stare at Donna through the entire thing if he so chooses. Maybe she'll stare back or wink or whatever. He brushes Mike off with a smirk as he side steps his own office and heads towards Louis'. Mike had been calling him intermittently all weekend, but he did something he'd never done before: put his phone on silent. Surely the kid was going to ask about that.

Instead, he meanders to Louis' office, pleased when he sees the prominent red hair sitting behind her desk, already typing away at her computer. He feels like he hasn't seen her in ages despite the fact that it was only a few hours ago. His stomach does flips when she rips her gaze away from her computer screen to look at him. He can't help the smile that spreads over his mouth.

"Good morning," he greets, lifting a hand to tap it on her cubicle wall. She pulls her hands to her chest and leans against the blank surface.

"Good morning, Mister Specter," she teases. He nods slowly as she arches an eyebrow. She leans ever so slightly forward and offers him a mischievous view down the front of her dress. He feels his cheeks warm as he eyes trail down the space between her breasts. He's caught, he's sure of it. She swallows and leans forward just a little more. "Loud tie."

"Well," he starts, leaning both elbows on the wall to lean closer to her; he adds just above a whisper, "Full disclosure, I had sex this morning."

"What a coincidence," she replies, same octave, same grin he felt pressed against his mouth not too long ago, "I also had sex this morning."

"And that dress," he says, his eyes scanning over her. He feels like a predator, like he's invading her privacy, but she leans back to give him a better view of just how high it settles on her thighs when she sits. He mouths a hearty _Wow_ and nearly presses so much of his weight on the cubicle wall that he loses his balance. He feels like he's behaving like a horny teenager. "That dress…"

"So I take it you approve?" She finishes for him.

"And if I didn't, would you take it off?" He ventures. He smirks and she shakes her head in response. He can still see her smile gracing her lips even though she quickly turns her attention back to typing. He stands upright and glances over his shoulder to see Louis practically running down the hall. He mutters, "Gotta go."

He pushes his hands into his pockets as Louis passes him in a rush. He tips his head to Donna and follows in the other named partner's direction. Louis' arms swing wide as he hurries to his chair behind the desk and plops down.

"I just got her and you're already trying to take her away," Louis practically growls.

"What? Louis, I-"

"If you think flirting with Donna will get her to come back to work for you then you're a fool," Louis barks.

He's afraid Louis might bark next. He sighs and takes a glance at Donna over his shoulder. She looks coy and he knows that she's listening in. It took him years to figure out she listened in on his conversations, there's no way that Louis has figured it out yet. He shakes his head at her and shifts his gaze back to Louis.

"Louis," Harvey starts, taking a forceful step towards the weasel-like man he's directing his comments at, "Donna is a grown woman and she can work for whoever she damn well pleases."

"Ever since she's come to work for me you've been lurking, waiting for a moment to strike to get her to come back and work for you," Louis accuses.

"It isn't like that," Harvey disagrees. He swallows and looks down. He sighs and lifts his eyes back to the stubby man in front of him. "We just have a lot of history. We've been through a lot together. We are going through an adjustment period and maybe I'm having a little trouble."

"Bullshit," Louis replies, "You'd say anything to get her back."

"What's going on here?" Someone interrupts behind him. He turns quickly on his heel to turn to the voice and spots Jessica standing in the doorway with Paula directly over her shoulder. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not really sure what's happening. "Are you two fighting without a mediator?"

"Donna-"

"Donna is not here to babysit the two of you," Jessica interrupts Louis, "Donna doesn't get paid enough to do that. Now, I assume you both came prepared for Doctor Agard today?"

"No," Paula says, stepping around Jessica, "I think this is a good place to start today. There are obviously a lot of unresolved issues here and Donna is at the heart of them."

Harvey sighs. Loudly.

He really doesn't want to get into some long, drawn out discussion about the woman he's finally able to call his girlfriend after 12 years. He's tried to keep himself in check lately, tried not to take out his annoyance on others, but he is annoyed that Donna doesn't work for him anymore. He feels like his left arm is missing and sometimes he still feels it there like a phantom.

Opening this conversation, especially after opening up to Paula at her office, will just be a huge mess that will teeter into outrageous. He is prepared for the backlash that could go down. He huffs as he moves to the couch, Paula moving into a chair as Louis begrudgingly gets out of his chair to move to his assigned therapy seat. Jessica closes the door pointedly before following the masses, taking a seat in the corner of the couch. He absently wonders how he got stuck in the middle.

"So, Louis," Paula starts, reaching into her bag for a pad of paper, "It seems to me that you think Harvey isn't allowed to even speak to Donna."

"I," Louis stutters. Harvey can't help but smirk as he looks out at Donna. She arches an eyebrow, the smallest of grins tugging at the corners of her mouth. He wishes she would turn off the intercom. "He can speak to Donna all he likes, I just don't like him speaking to her without me around."

"That's ridiculous," he replies, threading his fingers in his lap, "I don't need your permission to speak to her."

"Why do you feel like you have to be present for their conversation?" Paula asks.

"Because he has a crush on her," Harvey retaliates, "He's always had a crush on her."

"You only liked having her around because she made me look like a fool," Louis says then, "She's a lovely woman and you shouldn't use her like that."

"Is that what you think? I asked her here because I was using her?" Harvey replies.

"She's just another pawn in your little game, Specter," Louis counters.

"That's not true," he disagrees. His hands are sweating now. He lifts his gaze to Donna and watches her carefully. Louis crosses his legs and shuts himself in. "Don't flatter yourself into thinking that I brought her here for showmanship or to make you look like a fool. The reason I asked her to come to the firm with me had nothing to do with you."

"You've always tried to look better than me," Louis snaps.

"Not everything is about you," Harvey says.

"Then why did you bring her here? It took a total of thirty seconds for you to unleash her on me," Louis accuses.

"Because I was in love with her," Harvey growls, pushing himself to his feet, "I asked her to come here with me because I didn't want to come here without her. I wanted to talk to her every day and I wanted to see her. And now that she works for you, you're saying I need supervision to do that? That's bullshit, Louis."

He's frustrated now, reluctantly tossing a glance towards Jessica who seems unsurprised by his outburst. Paula is busy writing in her notebook. Meanwhile, Louis looks terrified. He's afraid to even look at Donna.

"Excuse me," he mutters, turning on his heel and heading towards the door.

He looks at Donna then. She has a pen in her mouth while looking down at the desktop. His breathing feels shallow in his chest as he reaches for the door handle. He pulls the door open, hesitating in the doorway as he stares at her. He swallows and balls his hands into fists. He takes a step towards her cubicle, letting his hands rest on the wall again.

"We should do lunch," he greets. She looks up at him, pulling the pen from her mouth. He stares at her fingers as they absently play with the pen. "I'll take you to that shitty Thai place you love."

"Ok," she says with a smile and a small nod.

* * *

He's watching her from across the table as she rambles on about something he doesn't really care about. He nods slowly, feigning his interest, but he isn't very good at lying to her because she catches on. She stops talking then and takes a sip from her water glass. This place is a shithole but she still looks beautiful.

He watches her as she sets the glass back down on the table and crosses one leg over the other. She leans forward, her breasts resting on the table top, and she smiles at him wanly. She says, "You don't really care."

"I just don't want to talk about Louis," he admits. He settles his palms flat on the table and slides them across the tablecloth. His fingertips lightly touch hers and her smile turns cheeky. He's proud of himself. "After this morning, he's been involved enough."

"About this morning," she starts, tapping her fingers gently. She looks away from him, staring at their hands. He knows part of her is enjoying this, but he can't help the concern that washes over him. Knitting the skin between his eyebrows together, he tightly purses his lips in a silent question. "Louis is going to lose his shit when he finds out."

"I don't care," he replies without a moment of hesitation, "Louis has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

"I know," she agrees with a small nod, "Nor does he affect how I feel about you."

"Then what is it?" He's still concerned that she's trying to back out. He swallows. "I thought our weekend went really well."

"It did," she agrees again, "It was an amazing weekend. But now we're back at work which means back to reality."

"No," he says defiantly. He doesn't even know where she's going with this but he certainly doesn't want to hear it.

"Harvey," she says his name evenly, her gaze ripping into him, "Hear me out."

He swallows the lump in his throat and sucks in a deep breath. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and nods so slowly that he feels like time has slowed. He refuses to accept anything that doesn't end with him getting a repeat of their weekend again later.

He says, "I'm listening."

"It's just," she looks away again, retracting her hands from beneath his, "With Jessica trying to take a sabbatical and us having a difficult time adjusting to our new work conditions, maybe we should lay low for a little while."

"Meaning?"

"You and Louis don't need more things to argue about," she says. He feels like he does not understand. Fraternizing was against company policy when they worked together but they don't work together anymore. He shakes his head confused. Again. "Jessica just wants you two to get along so she knows that her life's work doesn't fall apart if she takes a step back for a few months. Maybe it's best if we just don't rattle Louis with the prospect of me coming back to work for you."

"I didn't ask you to do that," he replies, pulling his own hands back towards his side of the table, "I don't _expect_ you to do that."

"No, you didn't," she says, mimicking his earlier movements and sliding her hands across the table to cover his hands with her own, "I think about coming back to you every single day but I can't do that to Louis."

"I know you like him," he replies, a heavy sigh escaping him. She pulls a face at him in response and he smirks, just slightly. She shakes her head there, a wavering sign of relenting for the moment. "I'm not asking you to come back to me, but if you wanted to, you could. Just so you know."

"Do you even understand why I left in the first place?" She asks with a playful look on her features.

"For the same reason I never wanted you leave," he answers.

She tilts her head to the side and he watches her hair fall into her face, gravity pulling the ends of her hair towards the ground just beside her ready and willing fork. She smiles. She baits, "Which is?"

"Because you love me," he says, sitting straighter. She kicks her foot forward and it comes into contact with his ankle. He nearly jumps out of skin. He is taking this seriously. He is. He sucks in a deep breath. He adds, "I would do anything for you, you know that, right?"

"Yes," she replies, her voice shaking. He pulls his hands out from beneath hers and covers her hands. He smiles and taps his toe on the ground. She truly looks like a goddess. "What are you – what are you getting at?"

"Nothing," he replies, squeezing her hands, "I just wanted to remind you that you're important to me."

"Harvey," she says his name breathlessly as a blush creeps up her neck. It happens occasionally, a blush warms her skin and she looks away as she recovers. He wishes he could catch her off guard more often, wishes he could make her feel safe enough to be vulnerable. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to," he says. He watches her lift her eyes to his again and she smiles. Her smile looks shy, a side of her that he's rarely seen. He really likes this version of her. "That's what boyfriends do, isn't it?"

"Something like that," she hums.

* * *

He hears her before he sees her. He's been shoveling through paperwork all week and hardly gotten a minute to himself. He isn't even half done with going through the paperwork and the week is already over. He hates mergers and fine print the most. He's tired. And he misses her.

He looks up expectantly, catching her red hair as it curtains her face from him. She walks towards his vinyl records cabinet like she is in search of something in particular. He furrows his eyebrows and quirks an eyebrow, a little unsettled by her pointed movement.

"Careful," he says.

She twists her body at the hips as she turns her face towards him then, her stock challenging look gracing her features. He shifts in his chair, leaning back as he pushes his arms against the arm rest. Her fingers trail over the sides of the records, a loud noise echoing throughout the room with every one that she ticks off with her fingers.

"It was one time," she finally says, "You have to get over it."

"It was Miles Davis," he replies. He huffs as she returns her gaze to her task. She plucks a record out a few seconds later and turns it over in her hands. She's so careless with his things. He pushes himself to his feet and approaches her, each step careful and calculated. "Do you not love me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she counters. She slides the record from the sleeve and settles it onto the record player. He's two steps behind her, the stain on his floor a few mere inches from his left foot. "I'm mildly attached to you."

She extends her right hand to him and he takes it in his left on instinct. He sways to the right before she's even fully stepped into his space, her left hand sliding around his neck. The record spurs to life, screaming out an unexpected melody of _Little Miss Can't Be Wrong_. Laughter belts from his lungs at her cheeky look.

"You fooled me," he mumbles, "I trusted your taste and you fooled me."

"You're just a hopeless romantic," she replies with a teasing shift of her shoulder.

"I admit," he starts, "I did expect something a little more…romantic, but the _Spin Doctors_ do offer their own unique form of romance."

"See? Hopeless romantic," she concludes, her hand circling the back of his neck.

He sways just enough to lock eyes with Gretchen. She's reaching for her purse before he's even nodding and she excuses herself for the evening. He welcomes the alone time with the woman he's had countless evenings in this very office with a mountain of paperwork and more space than he's wanted between them. He's glad they've mended the gap now.

"Just because I'm fond of you," he says. He offers her a small, reassuring smile when she pulls back to look at him. He hates that he doesn't get to spend all day with her 10 feet away. He misses that comfort. "Louis won't mind that you're in here?"

"Harvey," she warns.

"I just don't want to set him off," he reasons, "I know how scared he is that you're going to leave him."

"I am," she replies.

He takes a step back. He's confused, not really sure where this is coming from. He absently licks his lips.

"What?"

"It was his idea," she says. Her hand squeezes his there like she's trying to keep him from getting too far away. He expels a breath, lightly shaking his head. "He's extending an olive branch."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that me working for him makes him so paranoid that it gets in the way of the getting along process," she explains; she takes a step forward and he feels her hands wrap around his forearms. She adds, "It means that he understands now that I'm here so we can be together."

"You don't have to work for me," he replies.

"Yes I do," she says.

He releases a breath, lifting a hand to the top of her head and dragging his fingers through her hair. He smiles as his fingers reach the end of her hair. He doesn't know where any of this is coming from, but he definitely thinks it deserves a celebration.

"I want to take you somewhere," he says, "To celebrate."

"Ok," she murmurs with a nod.

* * *

He sucks in a deep breath and claps his hands together. She's standing over his shoulder, arms folded in front of her chest, and he gestures to the club in front of him. _Arthur's Tavern_ – his dad played here countless times and Harvey still sometimes visits it. They know him but he hasn't stopped in for months. He lunges forward and grabs the handle. Pulling it open, he ushers her through it. He stays close behind her as they find a table near the bar.

"My dad," he says, sitting down in the seat beside her, "He used to play here."

"I figured," she replies with a small smile.

He nods slowly. He says, "Do you want a drink?"

"Surprise me," she says.

He smirks and pushes himself back to his feet, making a beeline for the bar. Once he gets to the bar, he has to wait for an opening to get to the countertop. He slips in between two women with their backs turned to each other and leans his elbows on the bar top. He gestures for Frank the bartender, a bulky man with soft edges, who smiles upon the sight of Harvey. He makes his way over.

"Two margaritas," Harvey says, holding up two fingers.

"You finally got her here," Frank replies, "I'm proud of you, Kid. Your dad would be proud of you."

Harvey nods slowly as Frank takes off down the line to acquire the ingredients for margaritas. He watches Frank with a sharpened gaze as Frank throws his shoulders back and tosses Harvey thumbs up from across the bar. The woman to his left bumps into him. He slides his gaze to her as she nearly topples onto him.

"Oh my god," she says, her hands catching on his shoulders, "I'm so sorry."

On autopilot, his hands catch her wrists to keep her upright. He swallows thickly and looks at the space between them, guiding her away from him. He sighs, looking at her again. He says, "It's ok. You alright?"

"Yeah," she replies breathlessly.

He looks over at Donna then, removing his hands from the young woman. He can't help leaning forward, pressing his lips close to the woman's ear, and lifting his hand to point in Donna's direction. He whispers, "That pretty redhead is my girlfriend."

"Ok?" She gives him a confused look as he pulls back.

He shrugs as Frank brings the two margaritas over and sets the on the bar top in front of him with a wink. He says, "I've always wanted to say that."

He drops a twenty dollar bill onto the counter and slides it towards Frank before picking up the margaritas and heading back to the table. A man has taken his seat and is leaning heavily on the table. Donna is chatting with him, a genuine smile across her mouth. He's always admired how open she is with people. She doesn't take their shit but she's on everyone's good side. It's one of the many reasons that he loves her.

"Hey," he greets gently, and she immediately turns her attention to him, "I brought you a margarita."

He extends the glass to her. She takes it and perches the rim of the glass between her lips. Her tongue absently slides over the salt on the rim before she takes a drink. He watches for her reaction as she swallows.

She looks up at him and smiles. She says, "It's perfect."

"Frank wants to meet you," he replies, holding his hand out for her to take.

She slips her soft hand into his and he pulls her towards him, her chest bumping against his as she elongates her spine. He wants to kiss her right then, the smell of her perfume intoxicating him with her close proximity. Instead, he takes a single step back before turning on his heel and leading her towards the bar. He takes a sip from his margarita as they approach the bar, her fingers entwining with his as they move.

He returns to the spot where he placed his order, turning sideways to make room for her. He opens his arm and slips it around her waist as she steps forward, the bar still crowded. The girl who bumped into him before seems to notice his return because he feels her hand on his arm as she leans towards him.

"You're right," she says loudly, "Your girlfriend is pretty."

"Thank you," Donna replies.

He watches a red tint creep up her neck as she blushes. It makes him smile as she sets her glass on the counter. His fingers slip down to her hipbone and she angles her body more towards his. Her hand settles on his shoulder and slides down the expanse of his chest. He forgets she's so bold and comfortable with herself from all the years he refused to believe she could ever be with someone else.

"Very pretty," he adds with a small nod.

Her blush deepens as her mouth turns into a shape that resembles a shy smile. She leans closer to him, pressing her smile into the corner of his mouth. He pushes his fingers into her back and holds her against him so he can kiss her again. They linger for a few moments, her nose sliding over his as their lips hover centimeters apart.

Her hand slides back up his chest and comes to a stop at his neck. There's a quiet tap on the countertop that grabs his attention. He slides his attention to Frank and uses his hand not wrapped around her to tap his fingers against her elbow to point towards Frank.

"This is Frank," Harvey says, tossing her a glance, "He was a friend of my dad's."

"Gordon adored you," Frank greets Donna as she pulls her hand from Harvey's chest to offer it to the man; he take her hand and gives it a polite shake. He adds, "And so does Harvey."

"Really?" She says coyly.

"He talks about you every chance he gets," Frank replies with a nod, "He's an idiot, but he's crazy about you."

Someone gestures at Frank down the bar and he excuses himself. He offers her a grin as he reaches for his glass. They both take a big drink from their margaritas in sync. She angles her body towards his again and touches his shoulder, letting her hand slide down his upper arm.

"Let's dance," he says, lips just above her ear.

Her hands immediately slide around the back of his neck. His hands instinctively gather at her waist, fingers bunching the material of her dress between them. He moves slowly from side to side, his feet planted but his hips swaying.

"No one else is dancing," she mutters.

He shrugs half-heartedly. He says, "We don't need anyone else."


	13. Infandous

He peels his eyes open to a sun-filled room. He releases an exhausted sigh as he stretches his arm out from beneath the blanket to reach for his phone. He got rid of his clocks years ago, the concept of time becoming a more annoying feature of his existence more than an actual necessity. The sun typically wakes him as it rises with ample time to get to the office in time...if he feels like it, of course.

Today, he absolutely does not feel like it. He wants to burrow beneath the warm sheets and wrap his arms around his beautiful girlfriend without intentions to ever move from the very spot of his massive mattress. As his mouth parts with an uncontrollable yawn, he looks at the time on his phone to see that, boy, it is midway through the morning. He's already hours behind. He drops his phone back onto the nightstand and turns onto his side, throwing his arm across the bed in search of the woman he'd brought home the night before.

The opposite side of the bed is empty. Cold, even. He sighs in annoyance, gathering all of his strength and pushing himself into a sitting position as he looks around the room. He squints, peering through the slits of his eyelids in search of her. He huffs out of bed and heads into the living room.

He stretches as he pads across the wood floor, his bones cramping and tired. He shivers under the cold air sifting through the room. He should have put on more clothes than just his boxers and under shirt. He releases a breath of relief as he spots her sitting at the counter, stirring a metal spoon around a mug of coffee.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she greets cheerfully.

He narrows his gaze at her as he crosses the room to close the distance between them. He stops just in front of her, reaching for the cup of coffee suddenly thrust in his space. He says, "Trying to sneak away after our last dalliance?"

She gives him a playful look, but the warning still resonates there. She lightly shakes her head at him. He takes a sip of his coffee to hide his smirk.

"I moved all of your meetings to Monday," she informs him. He swallows a gulp of the vanilla flavor and gives her a questioning look. "You have too much sunlight in your apartment. We should have gone to mine."

"Mine was closer," he replies. He sets his cup down on the counter and finally lets his gaze trail over her. She's managed to slip on one of his button up shirts while her long legs are nearly uncovered by a single piece of cloth. "Aren't you cold? It's freezing in here."

"I've worn dresses that show more," she reveals with a smirk and a shrug. His lips purse tightly together, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance as he picks his brain for any moment he might have seen her sporting more skin at the workplace than this. She pushes her palms against his stomach and runs her fingertips up his sides. Whatever she's doing, it's calming his annoyance. "We should play hooky."

"You're a bad influence on me," he accuses. He sits on the stool beside the one she's currently perched on and drops his hands to her thighs. He pushes his palms up her thigh to wrap around her hips to the small of her back. Parting his knees, he pulls her a little bit closer. He says, "I had important meetings today."

"Every single one of your meetings was happy to reschedule just hearing the sound of my voice," she replies. She's always one for theatrics, showboating all day long. He loves that she doesn't always have to put on a show around him. Before he can even open his mouth with a question, she says, "Your schedule has always been synced to my phone."

He peers at her phone screen and concedes with a quick shake of his head. He slides his palms to her thighs again. He says, "What would I do without you?"

"Hopefully you don't have to find out," she hums.

He nods slowly in agreement.

A few minutes pass before he says, "I want to take you somewhere."

* * *

"Harvey," she says softly. He lifts his gaze from the rapidly changing scenery as the train moves effortlessly across the train tracks. He immediately smiles as his eyes land on her, as though he impulsively can't help it. She says, "Where are you taking me?"

"You know where I'm taking you," he retorts without hesitation. She sighs softly like she's disappointed that she couldn't get him to speak, but he slides his foot forward until the toe of his shoe comes into contact with hers. "I want you to see a part of me that no one else really knows."

"I know you," she insists, "I've always known you better than anyone else."

"Donna," he says evenly, "I want to show you where I grew up. That stupid creak on the top step that dad never fixed. The spot where I spilled dad's scotch I was trying to sneak when I wasn't supposed to. Plus, Marcus has been asking about you."

"I do love that kid," she laments.

"And when Garret asks this time if Aunt Donna is my girlfriend I get to say yes," he says. His smile widens and he suddenly realizes this is the first time he hasn't felt extremely melancholic as he was heading back to his hometown. He's happy. He watches as she arches an eyebrow challengingly. "What?"

"That boy couldn't possibly remember me," she replies with a unbelieving expression.

He nods with certainty. He says, "He asks about you every time that I see him."

"Does Marcus even know we're coming?"

"He knows I'm coming," he replies cheekily, "You're a bit of a surprise though."

He grins wide and reaches for her bag settled in the seat beside her. He stands and quickly shifts her bag to his seat and steals the bag's seat. She rests her shoulder against his, her head quickly following the movement and settling into the crevice of his neck.

She falls asleep within a few minutes and he doesn't bother waking her until the train stops.

* * *

"You stand here," he says, guiding her to a specific spot on the sidewalk. He pushes a bag onto either side of her, boxing her in. She's grinning in compliance, the plan they discussed in full action. "They're going to be so happy."

"Look at how happy you are," she hums in agreement, circling his forearms.

"I've never brought someone home before," he admits. He shrugs haphazardly as he feels a bit of heat touch his cheeks.

"Not even Scottie?" She asks, a sincere curiosity resonating in her gaze.

"Nope," he says. He stills suddenly, remembering that god awful dinner party. He spit shrimp in her mother's hair. He really hopes that sort of thing just doesn't happen again. "Although Marcus did meet her a few times, but he wasn't particularly fond of her. Especially after he got stuck on you."

She smiles softly as she pushes him back towards the door. Her grasp on him loosens as he steps backward, nodding. He approaches the familiar front door and lifts his fist to knock. His knuckles wrap heavily against the door. He expels a hearty breath as the seconds tick away before the door is opened.

"Brother," Marcus greets loudly, throwing his arms around Harvey without a moment of hesitation. He pats Harvey hard on the back before stopping at the sight before him. His little brother pulls back and moves around him. "What a sight..."

He trails off, rushing towards Donna and picking her up by the waist in one fell swoop before spinning her. Harvey feels his eyes crinkle with amusement as the two embrace in a youthful moment. He lets them hug it out for a few minutes before Marcus scoops up both of the bags and leads them into the house.

* * *

Marcus left them nearly twenty minutes ago to go to baseball practice. Harvey never thought he would see the day that Marcus would become a high school baseball coach, but he somehow got his shit together enough to actually have a steady job and build a family. Marcus has been more impressive than him in that manner.

He watches as Donna moves around the bedroom that once belonged to his dad, left as an almost shrine, peeking at the little glimpses into Harvey's childhood. He's told her about so many things over the years, things he's never bothered to tell anyone else, things including his mother. He's always felt like he could trust Donna with the parts of him that he's never thought he could trust anyone else. He doesn't even know why it never occurred to him that the foundation of trust was exactly where building a relationship would start. When she said that he never let anybody in, she was dead wrong.

She doesn't exactly touch anything, just hovers her fingers around pictures of the Specter men, even a wayward picture of his mother. She lingers on that one, one that is a tribute to everything he's steered away from his entire adult life. He was a good looking kid, but he hadn't had a girlfriend in high school just because he saw his love made people stupidly blinded. His parents were together for a lot longer than they should have been, that's for sure.

"They looked happy once," she says softly, staring at a picture of his parents together. It was at his 18th birthday, a small barbecue in the backyard with a few friends that he invited. His father taught him how to grill that day.

"Ignorance is bliss," he agrees with a shrug, "Dad didn't know and as long as he didn't know then they could be perfectly happy."

"That must have been quite the burden for you," Donna replies. He watches from his seat at the edge of the bed as she moves towards him, her hands landing on his shoulders. She slips between his parted knees and leans more heavily against him. He feels her fingertips begin to toy with the ends of his hair. "Your mother made you grow up a lot faster than you should have."

"It made it hard for me to trust anyone," he admits.

"Do you trust me?" She asks. Her question sounds genuine, like she's curious to hear the answer. He swallows thickly, not even sure why he has to think about the answer.

"Of course," he says with a nod. He trusts her; how could she not know? He's given her his everything - the credit of his success, the raw edges of him that are beneath the surface, the pointed ends of him that poke and prod until poof, everyone else is gone. But not her. She's still here. He was too busy comparing every woman to her to truly notice anyone else. "You're different."

She pushes her fingers through his hair in response, the vibrato between them echoing all the way to the tips of her fingers. She is elegance and she is grace. She has a side of him that only ever existed for her. Fighting for her never should have been something he needed to think about.

"Different how?"

He arches an eyebrow and gives her a pointed look. He knows she's just giving him a hard time, but he will indulge her anyway. After spending all of those years keeping his mouth from saying the things he wanted to say, that she apparently wanted to hear, he doesn't see a point in keeping quiet anymore.

"You're the most amazing woman I've ever met," he tells her. Her hands slide to the back of his neck, her fingers toying with his hairline. He swallows the thick film of saliva that's gathered in the back of his theist. He says, "I don't want to lose you again."

"You never lost me," she murmurs reassuringly, "Don't worry that you ever will."

He nods gently, lifting his hands to her hips and promptly moving them up her back. She lowers her face and lightly presses her lips against his, her mouth soft and warm against his. He leans back slowly, pulling her body with him, and he feels her knees settle on either side of him. The weight of her against his chest still leaves him stock still. She's daintier than he remembered from their one wild night of passion. Her torso touches his; the movement sparks something inside of him, encouraging him to flip them over and he lowers his weight between her legs.

He stills suddenly at the sound of a creak from downstairs. A blush lightly touches his cheeks. This is new for him.

* * *

He watches her laugh. Her head is tilted back, mouth parted in a poised manner, pearly white teeth bared for all to see. Her neck looks like it's expertly vibrating as a soft sound echoes off of the walls of the tiny kitchen he grew up in. He tuned out halfway through Marcus' story, too entranced on her as she animatedly interacted with the story. He's been watching her for years but he still can't look away. Her fingers touch his wrist unexpectedly as she leans forward against the table, elbows pressing against the surface when she looks at him.

"I can't believe you got my brother to take a day off," Marcus says after a few moments of silence.

"Oh, please, this was all his idea," Donna replies. She retracts her hand from his wrist and he immediately misses her touch. She takes another sip from her wine glass.

He nods in agreement. He says, "I wanted to show her the house."

"Wow," Marcus says, "You've got it bad."

"Shut up," Harvey grumbles, unable to really hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He lightly shakes his head before his mouth splits into a full grin. He can feel her eyes on him but still misses her touch.

"Oh come on," Marcus laments, "This is your dream girl we're talking about here. You may not have realized, but the rest of us did. You've always looked at her like she's the most important person in your life."

"She is right here," Donna supplies, "And you're making her blush."

"He's right though," Harvey says, reaching over and settling his hand on her knee, "And I did notice. Nothing ever worked out with anyone else because I already had everything with you."

"Everything except-"

"Gross," Marcus interjects before she can say anything else. Harvey grins, that award winning feeling consuming him. Intimacy was certainly the missing element in their relationship. "I'm happy for you but please stop there."

"You don't even know what I was going to say," Donna teases with a brilliant grin. Harvey absently nods in agreement. She's always rendering him speechless in some way. "Maybe I wasn't going to say what you think I was going to say."

"Yeah, right," Marcus mutters, tone skeptic and laughter toying on his mouth. Just then he hears the front door creak open and a rambunctious noise cut through their conversation. He watches Marcus suck in a deep breath. "Kim's home."

He watches as Marcus moves from the chair at the dining room table to go meet Kim at the front door. Certainly his little brother is going to catch her up to speed, meaning they have an unexpected guest. He immediately turns his attention back to Donna as soon as Marcus is out of sight. She offers him a smile, but it doesn't seem to touch her eyes.

"You okay?" He asks. She gives him a small nod and part of him doesn't know how to interpret it. Should he be worried? "Thanks for coming home with me."

* * *

He'd nearly lost parts of himself over the years. Part of him had disappeared into his work, into her, and she'd always been there to scoop it up like he didn't have anything to worry about. So he got a little careless and expected her to catch him every time he stumbled. This carelessness had caused him to rely on her so fully that he didn't even realize he'd been so close to losing her until she said the words directly in his face. At least she had the decency to do that. Most people wouldn't have.

He's grateful that he still has her in his life. When Marcus said she was his dream girl, well, Marcus knew exactly what he was saying. Actually, Donna wasn't just everything that he had dreamed in a woman, but she had transformed into dreaming about having every part of her. The good and the bad. And they are still new, and possibly moving a little fast but probably not considering they've been everything to one another just short of lovers until recently. But, if he's honest, he hasn't ever imagined his life without her in it. Not in the last 13 years anyway.

So he looks over at her, the old mattress tired and lumpy in all of the wrong places, and he feels like he's finally made the right decision regarding her. Well, not decision necessarily, but he's finally put his feelings for her into words. Which took long enough as is. And he's so glad that she's willing to forgive him after all of the hell that he's put her through.

She isn't sleeping either, undoubtedly finding the mattress to be less than exemplary as well, but maybe she's still getting used to sharing a bed with him. They haven't spent many nights together. Just a handful of nights really. And those nights don't particularly usually involve much sleeping.

She offers him a small smile and scoots closer to him. She rests her head on his shoulder, slinging her arm across his waist, and he feels a certain warmth flood through him. He has always known she was someone special to him, but he hadn't know he was so in love with her. Everything with her feels different than it's ever felt with anyone else. Laying in the very room that once belonged to his the man who told him when he met the one then he would know, the one has been right in front of him all along and he just didn't have the balls to say so.

He drops his left hand to her right hand that is thrown across him, entwining their fingers. He rests his cheek against the top of her head. He thinks they fit so perfectly together. He had always believed that was just a myth.

"My dad once told me that I would know when I met the one," he admits. She shifts a little, her forehead now pressing against his jaw. He knows what it sounds like. He knows it sounds like he hasn't meet the one yet, sounds like she's not it, but that isn't what he's trying to say at all. "I didn't know what that meant. But I did know that you were the one person I could never live without. I knew that no matter what, I had to keep you in my life."

"We drew lines," she says softly.

"You drew lines," he corrects with grin.

Just like that, he feels it in his chest, this need to feel all of her. He pushes his other hand against the small of her back and slides it beneath the hem of his old Harvard t-shirt. He turns to face her, sliding down just a little so their mouths are lined up. He leans forward, kissing her. He abandons her hand on his hip and brings his fingertips up to her jaw, pushing her hair away from her face, and he feels her grin against his lips.

"What?" He mutters.

"Nothing," she insists, "I'm just happy, Harvey."

"Me too," he agrees. He moves his hand down her arm, fingers trickling down to her thigh. He thinks for a moment about how he doesn't want to screw this up. He trusts her inexplicably. She is the only woman he thinks he could ever trust, but he's afraid his stupidity will get in the way. He says, "That's why I need you to do something for me."

"What?" She asks.

"Go with me to see my mom tomorrow," he says.

"Harvey," she says softly, "I would love to."

He smiles widely. He hooks his fingers around the back of her leg, guiding her thigh around his hip. She releases a sigh and the noise touches his ears in such a way that it turns him on. He swallows and looks up at her. She's a vision. She leans forward to kiss him, her body angling over his slowly. He feels her use her pelvic bone to guide him onto his back, the weight of her shifting against his waist.

"Do you want to have sex in your parents old bedroom?" She mutters against his lips.

"With you?" He counters rhetorically, "Oh yeah."


	14. Realisticality

"Uncle Harvey," Garret practically yells while staring at his food, "Is Aunt Donna your girlfriend?"

Harvey smirks as he offers the redhead an 'I-told-you-so' glance. Kim made so much food that the table is overflowing. He says, "Yes, she is."

"Cool," Garret says, his attention entirely returning to the food in front of him.

He has a full day ahead of him, so he's carbo-loading. It helps that he has Donna with him but he still isn't entirely optimistic when it comes to his mother. She must sense something because he feels her hand on his leg. She squeezes his leg reassuringly. It helps to calm his nerves but only a little.

He hasn't spoken to his mother since his father's funeral. He has done as much as possible to steer clear of her. Throughout his entire adult life, they've never really spoken and he's never really given her a chance. He wants to make things right but he isn't entirely sure he has it in him. Everything inside of him hopes that Donna being there will help him.

He's nervous though. What if his mother doesn't want to see him? She could blow him off and decide to have nothing to do with him. He deserves to be heard out, he thinks anyway.

They finish their breakfast, helping clear the table as much as possible before they head up the stairs for their jackets. She doesn't say anything, surprisingly letting him lead them at his own pace. If he were honest, he would say he wants to get this done and over with. He has little faith that this will go well.

He knows that at this point, he's the one who is closed off, even though his mother stopped trying to get into contact with him years ago. He gets that she is his mother, will always love him, will always be open to the possibility of reconciliation with him, but he has so much to say to her. And not all of it is good. He knows he can be rather combative at times and the only person who keeps him in check is Donna.

"Are you ready?" She asks him.

He wants to be honest. He wants to say that he isn't ready. That he's going to say the wrong thing. That he's still angry at her. He's angry all of the time. But he knows that what he has to do is forgive her so that he can have a trusting and honest life with Donna.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he admits.

* * *

He stands stock still, hands at his sides, eyes locked on the yellow painted door. His palms feel sweaty, humid, as he holds his breath. Attempting to summon the courage to knock, he swallows and balls his hand into a fist. It doesn't work. He quickly turns his upper body around to look behind him, but the taxi that had dropped them off is gone. Just as he leans his weight onto one foot so he can turn around and run, run, run as fast as he can, he feels soft and delicate fingers wrap around his wrist and slide down to his palm.

"You can do it," she whispers into his ear, her upper body leaning against his upper arm, "I have faith in you."

He nods slowly, suddenly no longer feeling like the cowardly lion. He turns his body back towards the unfamiliar door, devoting his attention to it as he lifts his raised fist to the door. She squeezes his hand tightly, silently encouraging him to knock. He does so, with limited strength, at first, before he knocks once more with more force.

Waiting for someone to come to the door, he turns his head to look at her, silently pleading with her for comfort. She nods instantly, her red hair framing her face. She looks beautiful in the spring sunlight, hem of her dress flowing around her thighs, and he momentarily forgets where he is as he absently wonders how he got so lucky.

The door being pulled open scares him from his reverie, the thought abandoned for another time as he looks at the graying man before him. It takes a moment for his brain to kick into high gear and piece who this man is. For a moment, Harvey feels betrayed all over again at the realization that Marcus sent him over here without even a proper warning. He feels his breath catch in his throat, a panic attack passing through him quickly and almost unnoticed as Donna squeezes his hand again, reminding him that she is in fact here. And that she has all of the faith in the world in him.

"Is Lily here?" He squeaks out. He feels like that same 8 year old boy he always seems to become in the presence of this man. He suddenly feels like he is being judged. If there is a falter in his appearance, will Bobby even see him as man?

Bobby, however, seems shocked. He seems to cower in his shoes beneath Harvey's gaze. His ego puffs up a little at the response as a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. Then he remembers exactly what he'd walked in on like a fucking lightening bolt.

"My mother," he repeats more sternly.

"Of course," Bobby mutters, taking a step back, "Please, come in."

With great reluctance, Harvey steps into the house and away from Donna. She releases his hand as he steps over the threshold, but he feels her hand between his shoulder blades as she follows behind him into the house. He releases a shaky breath, turning to look at Donna as Bobby shuts the door and goes further into the house.

He stares at Donna, almost too afraid to look around the house and see any sign of his mother and Bobby's life together. He tucks his hands into his pockets, and wavers onto his heels, quickly pushing his weight back to his toes. Donna smiles reassuringly and offers him a smile. He hears a scream echo throughout the house and his head snaps towards the noise instinctively.

The sound of his mother coming into the entryway sounds like a herd of elephants and he can't even brace himself for the way she throws herself at him and nearly collapses to the floor. He, again, looks at Donna pleadingly. He isn't sure how to handle this, what he is supposed to do about a crying woman. He's never been very good at comforting someone who's crying.

He feels his mother's arms around his neck, but he doesn't have it in him to return the favor. He keeps his arms at his sides, his hands balling into fists as he clenches his jaw tightly. Donna gives him a warning look that makes him unclench his fists. Reluctantly, he lifts one hand and places it on his mother's back. He pats gently until she releases him.

"Oh my god," she shrieks, "Look at you. You look fantastic."

"Thank you," he replies politely. He takes a step back, putting some space between them as he gets closer to Donna. He knows that he's using her as a shield, as a protective barrier, but he needs her. "This is Donna. Donna, this is Lily."

"Pleasure to meet you," Donna says, stepping forward to take Lily's hand.

He watches as Donna shakes hands with his mother, still not exactly sure how this should go. He knows he needs to get something off of his chest before this can be a fun visit. He knows Donna, always charming and polite, would normally embellish so much and offer kindness and comfort. She would say something cliché along the lines of "Harvey's told me so much about you," which would be a lie. He's told her very little. He actually hasn't told her much. Mostly everything she knows was all gossip from his father.

"Thank you, Donna," his mother replies, "The pleasure is all mine."

He can't help smiling. Although he doesn't much care for his mother's approval, he does hope that his mother is as taken by Donna as he is taken by Donna. There is a reason that she's always been his number one.

Donna returns to the space beside him and he immediately leans closer, his shoulder lightly touching hers. For some reason, he wants to tell his mother everything, like how Donna is his girlfriend and that she's given him the best memories of his life, but he doesn't want to validate her. He has to tell her something, he just doesn't know what. He looks at Donna, who immediately locks eyes with him. She gives him a curt nod and he feels her lightly press her hand against his lower back.

"I'm actually here," he starts slowly, turning his attention back to his mother, "Because I have something that I need to say."

"What is it Harvey?" Lily says calmly.

"I've been afraid of letting someone in my whole life because of you," he says. His voice is almost too calm. He's scaring himself. He feels Donna smooth her hand across his waistline, the movement reassuring him even more. He swallows. "I was scared that everyone would do to me what you did to dad. I was scared to trust anyone because I knew if anything went wrong then it would hurt. I have to forgive you because it's time for me to move on."

"Harvey-"

"Wait," he interrupts, "Let me finish."

His mother nods slowly.

"I'm lucky enough that I've had someone beside me for twelve years that I could trust, someone that I let in without ever meaning to," he says. He takes a deep breath, turning his head to give Donna a quick glance. She's nodding gently, tapping her hand against his back and ushering him to continue. "But because of what I witnessed, it took me a lot longer than it should have to admit to myself, and to her, that I was in love with her."

"I'm really sorry, Harvey," his mother says softly, "I never meant to hurt you. But I want you to know that you hurt me. Shutting me out of your life hurt me."

He tilts his head, annoyance creeping up inside of him. His jaw clenched like he's preparing himself to say something he might possibly regret, when he feels Donna slip her hand into the crease of his elbow. He looks at her and releases an exaggerated breath. He nods his head slowly, turning his gaze back to his mother.

"Then I'm sorry, too," he mumbles. He offers her a tight smile and a small nod as he steps away from Donna's comforting touch. He lifts his arms and steps towards his mother, wrapping her in an embrace. "I'll have to check with Marcus, but perhaps you could come over for dinner?"

"That sounds wonderful," she replies.

* * *

"You did great," she says, once they've stepped away from the house and onto the sidewalk. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and reaches for her. He slips his fingers between hers and tugs her hand to his mouth. He kisses the back of her hand. He watches her mouth split into a smile as they slow to a stop at the street corner. "You were calm and kind. It was nice to suggest dinner."

"I don't know how I feel about it yet," he admits, "I don't actually know that I'm ready to forgive."

"I'm going to say something I've never said before," she replies. He looks at her sharply, gaze tightening as he studies her for a moment. He knows why she's never said anything, but that doesn't mean he hasn't always needed to hear it. He nods slowly. "She's your mother, yes, but she's still human. Not everyone can be perfect, Harvey."

"You are," he replies cheekily.

She glares at him, but there's a playful sparkle in her eye. She twists her lips for a moment. She says, "Despite what you may believe, nobody is perfect, and it isn't fair to hold anyone to that standard or else they will fail you every time. Your mother did something awful, but it's time to move on. It's time for you to let someone love you and trust that they'll be truthful with you."

"Wow," he baits with a smirk, "Your motives sound like they could be a bit selfish."

"Could be," she seems to agree, "But maybe that's because after being with you, I can't imagine not being with you."

He smirks, tugging her towards him. Her free hand settles in his hip and he's immediately pulling her in for a kiss. His knuckles brush over her jaw and he kisses her softly. He can't remember ever being like this with anyone in these familiar neighborhoods. She's making him go soft.

"Can I show you something?" He asks. She nods gently, her forehead lightly brushing against his.

He leads her to the baseball field, the very one that he had the conversation about leaving the DA's office with his father. His father had told him something along the lines of what Donna had told him. His father and Donna would have been two peas in a pod, thick as thieves. If he had overcome whatever it was that was holding him back, the two would have been constantly conspiring against him in his personal life. It would have been satisfying.

The ballpark is packed with Saturday softball league, mothers and fathers and various siblings running around without a care. The concession stand is open and the line is relatively long. He leads her to the benches outside of the field. Teams are warming up, but a game hasn't yet started so there seems to be plenty of seats on the bleachers.

He silently gestures for her to climb the bleachers ahead of him. The wind picks up as she does this, blowing the hem of her dress up just slightly, so she quickly finds an empty seat about 4 rows up and near the edge. She leaves enough room for him to sit on the outside, which he quickly does, hands resting gently against his knees. He watches as she crosses one leg over the other, the milky skin of her leg being exposed just a bit more. When she catches him, he shrugs in response.

"So this is where I spent every Saturday growing up," he says, "Or at least until I blew out my shoulder."

"How old were you?" She asks. He feels her foot hit his calf.

"I was seventeen. When I was thirteen I started to do some competitive baseball, but me and some friends would usually come out here Saturday evenings still," he explains. He smiles as he reaches over and courageously settles a hand on her thigh. "Dad and Marcus would sometimes come out to join us. It became this huge ordeal."

"That sounds like fun," she says. Her fingertips slide over the back of his hand, and tap against his wrist. He wonders how many times some guy has taken her back to his hometown and shown her all of the places he went when he was a kid. "I love how close you and your dad were."

He smiles carefully, trying not to go to that place where he thinks about his dad and lets it take over his mood. He shouldn't. He has every reason in the world to be happy right now. Especially when he's here with Donna, showing her some of his favorite memories.

"Baseball was big to us, all of us," he replies, "I always imagined my own kid would be as into baseball as we were. But..."

"You've thought about that?" She hums, "Kids?"

"I," he pauses to take a deep breath, "One of the reasons I was mad at my mom was that I felt robbed of that option. I had a great dad who believed I could be as good of a dad as him. But with what happened with my mother, I was afraid to trust someone."

"You trust me," she says gently.

"You could break me, you know?" He asks. It's the rawest thing he's ever said. She looks at him with wide eyes, but furrowed eyebrows. He feels her hands circle his as she brings it closer to his torso. He says, "No one has ever had me like you do."

"I wouldn't," she says, "I couldn't. I don't want to find out what life would be like without you."

"So," he hums with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "We have a deal then?"

He thinks, _to have and to hold_.

He thinks, _to cherish and respect._

He realizes they've lived their lives with loyalty to one another that much resembles wedding vows. He watches as she pushes her back straighter and she leans towards him. She places her lips on his and he thinks about how soft her mouth is, with a peach lipstick that tastes a little like the fruit. When she pulls back from the soft kiss, she's smiling and dropping their hands into her lap.

"Do you want to pick a kid and cheer for them like he's ours?" She ventures. He looks at her with a quitter eyebrow, like that's a creepy thing to suggest. And it is a little weird, but he appreciates her gesture like it's an omen to their future. "For practice?"

"Let's do it," he replies.

* * *

He's been trying to contain himself around the kids ever since his mother and Bobby showed up. It isn't necessarily the problem of his mother, but of Bobby being there. The man's presence just sort of rubs him the wrong way.

Regardless, he just can't accept that maybe his father wasn't the love of his mother's life after all. Not if she's been with Bobby all of this time. He supposes that he's never really sat down and thought about that Ancient Greek myth of soulmates but, even as an adult, it's still difficult for him to wrap his head around the fact that maybe his mother and father just weren't meant to be.

His father had always been a whole-hearted believer in love, even until the day he died. He was a zen man, without much hostility, anger or bitterness towards his mother. Harvey knew that he harbors more bitterness towards her than his father ever died. He felt like he had been robbed from trusting people.

Of course, standing haphazardly by while Marcus grills hamburgers and hot dogs, he watches Bobby run around the backyard with Garret like they do this every weekend. And they probably do. His mother, meanwhile, holds Jackson in her lap and rocks him back and forth while talking to him about lord knows what.

He sips on his beer as Donna and Kim come out of the kitchen carrying various add-ons for their meal, including a stack of potatoes a mile high. He thinks, for a moment, that this almost looks normal and the only thing missing is his own kid being thrown into the mix.

His eyes briefly close, and he sees a little red headed girl running around in the herd with Bobby and Garret. He's annoyed, for a nano-second, that Bobby is even present in this vision before he is instantly sorry that his father had to miss out. In this vision, he's also holding a little tyke in one arm while sipping on his beer like a seasoned parent. He knows instantly that he dwelled on his anger for too long.

He opens his eyes and feels them glazed over with tears. He swallows and turns on his heel, not even acknowledging that Marcus has finally chosen to speak. He avoids anyone looking at him, and sets his bottle down on the table as he goes into the house and rushes right through to the other side. He's met with a different gust of wind than the one in the backyard, and he drops down onto the porch, knees pulled up to his chest as the soles of his shoes press against the top step.

He drops his head into his hands, leaning his elbows against his thighs, and just reminds himself to breathe. The day with Donna had been enlightening. They'd pretended to be parents in the crowd, and they had shared something he had never shared with anyone before. He learned that she already knew enough about softball to be a hardcore athlete mom. He also learned that he felt like they had missed out on so much by not being together until now.

He hears the door creak behind him and he releases a deep breath from within his chest. He lifts his head, extending his hands out passed his knees, pressing his elbows into his legs. He knows who it is without even looking. He feels her sit down beside him, so close that he's forced to lean to the right. She seems so small beside him. She slips her hand through the space between his arm and his side, sliding her fingers over his wrist until her fingers thread with his.

"What's happened back there, babe?" She asks, barely audible.

"I was just thinking," he admits. He finally lifts his gaze to her. He knows that she can see through him, can see the glassy look in his eyes. He forces a smile onto his face. He says, "It's a shame my dad had to miss all of this."

"It really is," she agrees, "But your mom is here. And she's great with those boys."

"She is," he mutters, "I can't help feeling like I...we missed out on something."

"Like what?" She asks.

"We could have been a family," he says. He almost convinces himself.

"Honey," she starts softly, "This isn't all on you, okay? It's on me, too. I wasn't ready either. We can still have that. I know you love me, Harvey. Do you know that I love you?"

"Yes, of course," he says.

"Then we can still have a life together," she replies, "Stop inferring that I'm old."

"What? I didn't," he says defensively. She bursts into a grin. He shakes his head slowly. He stares at her for a few moments, her hand squeezing his tighter. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we didn't really miss our chance."

"You can never lose what's meant to be," she says.


	15. Hedonistic

"Harvey, honey," the voice is soft and gentle, but still somehow very different from Donna's. He looks to his left, eyes connecting with his mother's. "Tell us, how's work?"

The table is once again packed to the very edge with food. Jackson is wedged between Donna, who sits to his right, and Kim, while Garret sits between Marcus, across the table from him, and Bobby. He looks from his mother and over at Donna, somehow feeling that Donna is better fit to explain exactly what's going on at the office, but he knows that her proper etiquette will keep her out of it.

He swallows the food in his mouth. He says, "Work is work. We've been dealing with a few potential changes in management."

"Harvey," Donna says, tone sweeter than normal like she's warning him not to placate his mother, "Don't be humble now."

"What?" He says, eyebrows furrowed as the confusion takes over him. He thinks he knows what Donna is getting at, but they don't know anything for sure. When Jessica takes her sabbatical, there isn't any guarantee that he will be managing partner in the interim. Not that he would ever let Louis call the shots, not as long as he lives and breathes. "We don't know anything for sure."

"Jessica plans on going to France for six months," she informs him, "She's leaving on the twenty-fourth."

"What?" He mutters, mouth dropping open. He shakes his head slowly, trying to wrap his head around this information. Jessica didn't tell him. And he supposes that he's been so caught up discussing their past mistakes and a possibility of their future that Donna hasn't had much of an opportunity. But he still can't help but feel like she kept it from him. "Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't you tell me?"

"She just told me Thursday," she replies. She sighs softly. He watches the way her mouth parts like she's at a loss. He doesn't want to put her on the spot, but he can't help himself. He blinks wildly as he reminds himself it is not her fault. "We've had a lot going on since then."

"Right," he agrees. He takes a long moment to look down at his food. He looks at the symmetry of it, wondering why the potatoes have spilled over into the space his half eaten hot dog allows like he's truly afraid to try eating anything Donna might have touched. "You're right. We've been quite busy."

"She wants you to take the helm," Donna says, "She knows Louis can be rash at times and thinks it would be best if you filled in. That being said, she does think it best if I am with you rather than with Louis."

"Is that why...?"

"No," Donna says quickly, a shake of her head accompanying the word, "I agreed. Louis agreed. Everyone agreed that you're ready with a few...conditions."

"And you're one of them," he says, more of a realization than a question. He huffs. "I don't want you to come back if that isn't what you want."

"I'm right where I want to be," she replies.

He looks at her. She's being genuine. He supposes that she never really wanted to be apart, she just didn't know how to be around him without being with him anymore. He doesn't blame her. He was beginning to find it difficult as well. He nods, picking up a fork to finally stab some of the potatoes.

He suddenly remembers that there's an entire table of people witnessing their exchange. He promptly clears his throat and offers everyone an apologetic smile. He says, "Seems like I'm getting a promotion."

"Congratulations, Harvey," Bobby says first.

The man reaches for his glass and lifts it in the air in a cheers motion. Harvey takes great pause in the motion, even as the rest of the table, adults anyway, follows his lead. He doesn't know how long it will take to warm up to this guy.

"Thanks," Harvey mutters, in spite of himself. He takes a sip of his beer to join in, out of politeness more than anything else. He looks at Donna again who seems to be avoiding his gaze all of a sudden. He wonders if this is too much for her. He reaches over and places his hand on her wrist. "Are you sure this is what you want? Because if it isn't, you don't have to come back to work for me. I know I'm pretty high maintenance, kind of a lot to handle. You already have your hands full."

Thankfully, he is close enough and quiet enough that everyone else has seemed to fall into a conversation so they aren't paying much attention to them. Donna, on the other hand, hears him loud and clear. She lifts her gaze to him and he sees tears pricking the corners of her eyes. He did not want to make her cry.

"Shit," he mutters.

She shakes her head. She says, "What can I do to make you see that you're just as great as I think you are?"

He feels taken aback by her response. He didn't see her reacting this way to such a simple question. He shakes his head, preparing himself to say something, but he's too distracted. She turns her hand over beneath his. He realizes suddenly that they went from one drastic of never touching to the opposite of teaching often. It feels so natural, he hadn't even realized.

"I love that I have gotten to share all of your accomplishments with you," she adds, "And there are worse things in life than maintaining you."

He smirks at that.

* * *

He feels a bit tipsy. He's consumed at least a 6 pack of beer, if not a few more than that. He lost count. The beers did come in handy to keep him calm when his mom started talking about her life with Bobby. Bobby seems like a nice enough guy, sleeping with a married woman aside, but the guy has stuck by his mother so Bobby can't be all bad.

He feels Donna beside him, shifting her weight as she leans her shoulder more heavily against his chest. Her hand is tucked beneath his thigh, her leg pressed against his. He can't even keep track of the conversation at hand anymore. He's more focused on her hair in his face, the smell of her shampoo, the way her fingers wrap around his. Her knee taps against his thigh, legs crossed, and it prompts him to look at her.

He offers her a smile, which she immediately responds to by squeezing his leg. They haven't spent a lot of time together even though it feels like they've been doing this being together thing for a long time. He would guess that his mother and Bobby really have no idea that this is still new for them. He quickly remembers his father telling him that when he meets the one, he'll know. He always knew she was it for him.

His gaze skates over the contours of her face, the part that he can see anyway. She isn't looking at him. She's paying attention to the room, observing. His fingers curl around hers as he finally gives in. He sets his beer bottle down on the table beside the couch. He rests more fully into the corner of the couch, angling his body more towards her, and wraps his hand around her waist. He engulfs her completely, wondering how he ever went by a single day without getting to touch her.

He feels her shift a bit more, her hand pushing up his arm. He can't help going to that place where he wonders how many other men she's been like this with, how many other men she felt like she could love. He can't help feeling a slight tick of jealousy as he thinks about her past relationships. She has always been more discreet than him when it comes to her personal life. He knew very little while she was always in his business in some way.

"We better get going," his mother says, loud enough to fully distract him from the woman in his arms.

He looks away from Donna to his mother, lips parted. He feels confused. He watches his mother stand, Bobby quickly following her lead. Hesitantly, he releases the grasp on Donna. He watches her stand upright, his gaze honing in on her backside. He becomes distracted again, before he stands as well.

The group of them follows his mother and Bobby to the door, where his mother turns to look at him. She looks at him, her eyes filled with tears, and offers him a tight smile. He can tell that she's afraid this was a fluke, that they aren't on the path to revival.

She turns to Donna then. She says, "Please keep taking care of him."

Donna nods there, a certain thing in her demeanor that makes him realize she is also near tears. He quickly places his hand on her back in an attempt to reassure her. Donna steps forward, away from his touch, and pulls his mother into a hug. He feels his mouth tug upward, glad that Donna is so warm and knows just the right thing to do. Any other woman would have been cold and possibly outright embarrassing. Pulling away from the hug, his mother's hands land on his cheeks.

She looks at him for a long moment. She says, "Do stop by before you leave for the city again."

"We'll try," he mutters. To which his mother accepts. Her hands slide down his shoulders and wrap around his neck, pulling him in tightly. He secures his arms around his mother, avoiding eye contact with Bobby. He sighs, releasing a tired breath. He is tired of being angry. He says, "It's going to be okay, Mother. We'll see each other again."

He feels a third hand on his back then, around his waistline, dangerously close to the loops in his pants. He lets go of his mother and tosses a glance over his shoulder. He pulls back, stepping more into Donna's touch, and offers Marcus a glance. Marcus looks extremely proud of a mostly successful evening. His frustrations from earlier did not stem from his mother, but stemmed from his inability to fully let himself be in love.

"Get home safe," Marcus says, giving his mother and Bobby their goodbye.

Harvey loops his arm around Donna's shoulders then, pulling her close to his side. Her arms circle his waist, hands pressing into his side, and he feels at home. He feels like he could be anywhere with her and it would be perfect. He needs to take her somewhere, for real.

* * *

He doesn't know how to approach the suggestion of a vacation with her. Where would he even suggest they go? If they can only get away for the weekend, if that's all Jessica will allow, then they would have to go somewhere nearby. If they can get away for a week before Jessica leaves then they can go somewhere across the country. Besides, he's heard about the proper dating guidelines and he knows that they're doing it all wrong.

He looks over at her. Her hair is wet from her shower and she has the side table lamp on as she scrolls through her phone. He watches her as her hair curls around her chin, her finger zooming over the screen. He wonders exactly what she's looking at. Probably something very different than what he would look at. He imagines her to be the type of person her utilizes the world at her fingertips.

He still feels a little drunk from the beers; even though it's been nearly an hour since he finished his last one. He's sure lying on his back isn't helping, looking up at the ceiling and watching the fan spin endlessly. He sighs, which makes her shift her gaze from the device in her hands to look at him.

"What's wrong?" She says.

"Nothing," he says, lifting a hand to push the hair out of her face, "I was just breathing."

"Loudly," she counters, "Because something is bothering you."

"I'm not bothered," he corrects, "There isn't anything that could bother me right now."

"Louis," she says.

"Okay, there's one thing that could bother me right now," he replies. She smirks triumphantly, which he finds too adorable to dispute. He only likes the cheeky, triumphant look on her. Any other woman has always grated him the wrong way. "I just, I want us to get away from it all."

"We're away right now," she points out.

"Not like a three day weekend with my family," he says, "But a real vacation that you deserve."

"We both deserve a vacation," she says.

He smiles at that, the way that she's always taken him into consideration. He wishes he could have always done the same, but he's not as thoughtful as she has always been. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and leans back against the headboard.

"Do the normal dating rules apply to us?" He asks, "I mean, how much is too soon for us?"

She smiles, adoringly, and locks her phone before setting it on the table beside her. She turns her attention back to him, fully this time. She reaches for his hand and entwined her long fingers with his.

She says, "I don't know that anything is particularly too soon for us. If it feels right then we shouldn't over think it."

"I still wonder how far you went with other guys," he says.

"I do have to admit, honey, there are some guys I went all the way with," she replies. His mouth forms a thin line, eyes offering her a glare. She smiles playfully. She squeezes his hand tightly, bringing it into her lap. "Look, I dated other men before you. Sometimes it was serious. Sometimes we talked about a future together, but I couldn't ever commit to them. My heart always belonged to you."

"We might as well just get married," he says flippantly.

He laughs. It doesn't entirely dawn on him what he's said, the commitment he's just spoken in the air between them. Not that he's ever really doubted his commitment to her. It's always been particularly easy in comparison to anything else. In a sense, he's never really pictured his life without her in it since the day that he met her.

She, on the other hand, reacts minimally. She smiles. She shakes her head. She leans towards him and lightly presses her lips against his jaw.

"When you ask for real, you might want to make it a bit more romantic than that if you want me to say yes," she says, "I've had my fair share of proposals and yours needs to be the best since it'll be the last."

It hits him then. She thinks he is good enough to be a husband. He never thought he would be a husband, not after falling so hard so fast for her but knowing he couldn't do anything about it. He looks at her then, mouth slightly agape, trying to determine just what to address first.

"Just how many proposals have you received?" He asks.

"I never said yes," she reasons, "The diamonds were never big enough."

He rolls his eyes then. He says, "I've really got my hands full."


	16. Simpatico

_Believe it or not, I have a very clear view of the rest of this fic so it is mostly drawing to a close. There may be a few more chapters, before this comes to a close with a possibly sequel in the works. _

* * *

He's in the office first thing Monday morning, waiting in Jessica's office for her to arrive. He helps himself to her desk chair and leans back in it. He doesn't dare make himself any more at home in her office. He already knows he's going to get chewed out for sitting in her chair. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to entertain himself until Jessica shows up. He knows it will be soon. She's usually the first one in the office and he had to leave Donna's apartment at the crack of dawn to get in before the managing partner.

After catching up on all of the emails he'd ignored, literally nothing of importance, he's left with almost nothing to do except wait for Jessica's arrival. Luckily, his timing is just right considering he'd practically been shooting in the dark at what time Jessica actually gets to the office. He looks up at her charging down the hallway, purse in hand, as he buries his phone back into his pocket.

He smirks as she crosses the threshold into her office. She says, "Boy, what the hell do you think your doing?"

"I'm just testing out my new office," he answers playfully. He pushes his palms against her desk and smooths them over the top of the wood. He gets a little carried away. He cowers a bit when he meets her gaze again.

"She told you," Jessica observes.

"Of course she told me," he replies, standing up finally and making his way around the desk, "Did you think she wasn't going to tell me?"

"I knew she was going to tell you," Jessica replies, moving around to the back side of her desk. They are practically tangoing around the piece of furniture. He slips his hands into his pockets. "The only thing she's ever been able to keep from you is how she feels about you."

"You shouldn't have made her come back to work for me," he says.

"You weren't in that room, Harvey," Jessica says with a sigh as she sits down in her desk chair, "Nobody made her do anything. It was her decision. She loves you. That's why she thought it would be a good idea."

"I know," he mumbles. He looks up at Jessica then, toying with the words in his mind. She looks at him expectantly, like she knows there's more that he hasn't gotten to yet. "She told me you're leaving on the twenty-fourth."

"I am," Jessica confirms.

"Can we take a week off?" He asks, hesitation in his voice, "Before you leave."

"I think if that's what you want to do then you better make arrangements today," Jessica says. She leans back in her chair, resting her arms on the rests. She seems to be challenging him. "Louis is taking the week before I leave off so it has to be next week."

He pauses, not really being left with any options. He knows what he wants to do. He feels like he needs Jessica's approval, but he doesn't entirely know why.

"Do you think," he starts, but pauses to steady his breathing, "Do you think it's too soon to ask her to marry me?"

"I think that isn't any of my business," Jessica answers. She smiles in spite of herself. He watches as she stands and moves back around the table. She closes the gap between them, pulling him into a rather quick hug. "However, if it feels right, then you should go for it. Congratulations, Harvey."

* * *

He joins her for an early lunch at Cappones where they order Italian sandwiches. He knows them being out of the office at the same time is a fairly bad idea now that they've paired up again, but he likes eating with her. He's never had better company over a meal than her.

However, she seems to be hesitant, not in joining him for lunch, but in approaching conversation. He knows that she's upset about something, but he can't particularly tell what by looking at her. That's never exactly been his strong suit even if he knows her like the back of his hand. He watches as she takes a sip from her water, her lips tight around the straw. She's acting weird, like something is wrong.

"Where'd you go this morning?" She asks, "I woke up and you were gone."

"I actually wanted to get into the office early this morning to talk to Jessica," he admits. He offers her a small smile, hoping that what he says next will calm her. He fidgets with the silverware on the table, waiting for the waitress to bring their food. "She approved a vacation next week."

"A vacation?" She repeats.

"Yes," he confirms, "For you and me."

"For us?" She says, "Harvey, where even would we go on such short notice?"

"Anywhere you want," he replies with a shrug, "We can go skiing in Colorado. To the beach in the Bahamas. Hawaii, even, if you want to."

"You haven't taken a vacation for as long as I can remember," she replies.

"I haven't had a reason to," he says. He gives her a long look, trying to read her face. He wonders if she looks disappointed. Maybe she's just not happy that he wasn't there when she woke up. "We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to."

"It's not that," she says.

He purses his lips for a moment. He watches her demeanor change. Her smile is apologetic, but he doesn't get why. He's really confused.

"Then what is it?" He asks.

"I just don't want you to keep thinking about my relationships before you," she replies. And he has thought about it, she's right, but he hasn't really dwelled on it. "You don't have to worry about them. I have always felt something for you even when I was with them."

"Look, Donna, I don't want to know about them," he says, "I want to getaway with you and this is our last chance for the next six months. You mean everything to me and I want to take you somewhere that it can be just us."

"I wouldn't mind an impromptu trip to the Bahamas," she finally says.

He doesn't care about any of the other guys she's been with. He knows that if they are here now and she didn't actually marry any other guy, it's because they are meant to be together. He knows that better than he's ever known anything. He smiles widely in response, nodding his affirmation.

"I'll book the trip when we get back to the office," he says.

"You'll book it?" She asks, face haunted with disbelief.

His smile transitions into a smirk. He leans back in his seat and laughs softly. He says, "I am capable of doing things on my own."

"Better let me," she replies.

He laughs and shakes his head. He says, "Let me do something for you."

It takes her a minute to concede.

* * *

He books tickets to the Bahamas and the nicest hotel he can find reviews for. Of course he has plenty of money saved up from all of the years that he hasn't taken a vacation. And he decides to splurge to show her how much appreciates everything that she's done for him, and because he wants this to go perfect.

After their conversation about proposals, even though he initially hadn't been serious, had left him thinking long and hard about how he should actually propose when he decided to. Of course, he knows he loves her, that he wants to spend his life with her, couldn't imagine having a future with anyone but her. So he figures, why wait for a proposal?

They've had their fair share of arguments over the years. Sometimes they were trivial, and sometimes they absolutely were extremely vital. He has been well within his rights to angry at her on the occasion, and her at him, but regardless he was always the first to concede and offer an apology. He knows better than to let any woman who could wield that power over him to get away.

He looks up at her from his computer screen, noticing that Donna is busy typing away at her keyboard. He isn't entirely sure that he can sneak out unnoticed, not when she knows his schedule so thoroughly. He closes his laptop and pushes himself to his feet. His chair bounces back and he moves around his office to head to the door, trying to prepare wherever he's going if he can't slip by her unnoticed.

He offers her a nod as he barrels past her and heads towards the elevator. He can tell out of his peripheral vision that she's confused, that she knows he's acting weird, but he keeps walking either way. For the first and only time, he misses Gretchen. She didn't give a shit about him other than her job.

He pushes on the elevator button, hitting it rapidly. He suddenly has a bad feeling wash over him like he's going to get caught. He quickly looks behind him in the direction he came from and decides to abandon his post. He takes the stairs instead, going to the 49th floor.

He makes it to Rachel's office hopefully unnoticed. Sometimes he thinks she has people on patrol, people who report back to him on his whereabouts because she always seems to know. Standing in the doorframe of Rachel's office, it suddenly occurs to him that she would probably be the number one culprit to report back to his girlfriend. He needs her help regardless.

"Rachel," he says quietly, tapping against her door as he enters her office. She looks up quickly from her paperwork, a clearly shocked look on her face. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Is something wrong?" She immediately asks.

"What?" He says, eyebrows furrowing, "No. Nothing. I just need your help with something."

"Um, okay," Rachel says slowly.

He nods and sits down in one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. He looks behind him again just to be sure Donna hasn't followed him to Rachel's office. He's really nervous but he needs to be prepared. Turning his attention back to Rachel, he releases a very deep breath.

"You're Donna's friend," he says.

"Yes," Rachel confirms, her confusion extremely apparent now.

"I need your help picking out a ring," he admits. He feels sweat gather against his forehead, lining his hairline. He can barely breathe. He looks directly at Rachel, can tell that she's utterly shocked now. "She made some comment about her numerous proposals."

"Did she tell you how many times she's been proposed to exactly?" Rachel inquires, "Because she wouldn't tell me."

"She wouldn't say," he mutters, more annoyed about that subject now. He doesn't understand the secrecy from even her best friend. He huffs and leans forward in the chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. "She said the diamonds were never big enough."

"You know she didn't mean that," Rachel replies, "She doesn't really care about the ring, she cares about the one who is giving her the ring."

"So you think she'll say yes?" He asks, perking up a bit.

"Honestly, Harvey, I don't know," she says, "But if you've talked about it at this point, I think there's a chance."

"She said it has to be perfect because it'll be her last proposal," he says.

"I would say the odds are in your favor," Rachel says cheekily. He can see her face light up and she's overcome with excitement. He didn't even stop to think that she's newly engaged, not even married yet.

"I'm not trying to steal your thunder," he insists all too quickly. Rachel laughs and pushes herself into a standing position. He breathes a sigh of relief. "God, I'm so sorry, Rachel. I didn't even think-"

"I'm thrilled," Rachel interjects, "I couldn't be happier to share wedding planning with a person."

"So you'll help me?" He asks.

"First," she says, and he watches her face contort into a cringe, "You have to get her father's permission."

"Shit," he grumbles, throwing himself back into the chair. Is that tradition really that important to her? He practically groans so loudly that Rachel smirks and quirks an eyebrow. "He will never give me his blessing."

"You'd be surprised," Rachel says, not at all reassuringly.

* * *

Harvey knows that he's skating on thin ice. He's never really been able to keep a secret from her, even if she pretends to not know. One of his concerns is that if he does go to her father, James will be so angered that the man will tell his daughter. James has never particularly liked Harvey. James does have a very specific respect for him, but the man doesn't really like him.

Although Donna hasn't asked, he can tell that she is getting suspicious. She hasn't called attention to it yet, but he can tell that she wants to. He hasn't told her the specifics of their trip yet, but he's planning to when he gets to her apartment.

When the cab pulls to a stop, he gives the driver a few twenties and grabs his duffle bag and his suit bag. They hadn't specifically discussed him coming over, but he'd hoped she would open her door to him. He can at least tell her that he missed her, or something. He climbs the steps two at a time until he reaches the second floor, her familiar green door a comfort to him.

He gives the door an enthusiastic knock and waits for her to come. She hasn't texted him since she left the office, and he really didn't even think to text her between leaving the office and standing in front of her door. He's eager when she opens the door, nearly bouncing on his toes, and relieved when she offers him a smile.

She reaches out and takes his suit from him. She starts walking back towards her bedroom, leaving him to help himself inside and shut the door behind him. She says, "I hope you at least brought dinner."

He follows her into her bedroom and drops his bag on the floor while she hangs his suit up in her closet. He sighs in defeat, realizing that he hadn't even thought of food. He sits on the corner of the mattress and lightly shakes his head.

"I can go get something," he replies. He kicks his shoes off in spite of his offer. He's too busy watching her long, exposed legs as she closes the space between them. Her shorts are short and the t-shirt she's wearing looks like one she may have stolen from him. "If you're really hungry."

"Food can wait," she says, "The Thai place is open until midnight."

He laughs in response, hands resting on her thighs as she places her hands on his shoulders. He feels the pressure of her moving closer against his fingertips, her pelvis lowering onto his lap as she straddles him. He's spent his entire day thinking about proposing to her. He hadn't even thought about what her skin feels like beneath his fingertips.

"Are you ready for paradise?" He asks. He pushes his hands up to her waist and circles them around to her back. He absolutely what's this to be a trip that she will never forget. And perhaps they can make it a yearly occurrence.

"Define paradise," she ventures.

He smirks at the double entendre. He says, "Sunshine, beach, seafood, spa, you in a bathing suit."

"You in a bathing suit," she counters.

"I don't even think I have a bathing suit," he admits.

"Hm," she muses, "We'll get you a speedo before we leave."

Even though she looks a tad bit excited at the prospect, they both know better by now. He runs 4 times a week, but he doesn't work out much more than that. He is far from speedo ready. Besides, that particular piece of clothing would perhaps showcase a bit too much for his liking.

"How about you stick to the sexy water wear and I don't," he suggests.

"Fine," she says through a gentle laugh. He feels her fingers press harder against the back of his neck. He feels more at home in her apartment than he thought he would. All of the memories tied into this place and he really only has good ones to think of. "Where are we staying anyway?"

"Warwick," he says, "Paradise Island. We can walk to the casino and see if you're my good luck charm."

"Haven't I always been?" She says coyly.

"You've got me there," he replies with a grin. He lifts a hand and pushes some of the hair away from her face. She looks a little shy and he knows he feels full of himself. He feels so sure of them all of a sudden. "Do you want to see the place?"

"Of course," she replies.

He smiles and kisses her softly, chaste. He turns slightly, letting her move onto the bed behind him. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up the information about their trip. He feels her press up against his back, her legs moving around either side of him and wrapping around his waist as he hands over his phone. She's looking at his phone for a few minutes, her hand occasionally brushing over his back. He hears his phone vibrate and ding in her hand, but initially thinks nothing of it.

She hums then says, "Why is Rachel texting you to meet her on Fifth Avenue tomorrow afternoon?"

"Can you just," he starts, but pauses just as quickly because he knows he's about to say the wrong thing. He sighs and swallows because he knows it's already too late. He glances at her over his shoulder and pressing his hands against her shin. "Can you just not ruin the surprise?"

"It's not my fault your phone went off in my hand," she counters. He knows that she has a point, but he really doesn't want this to get out. At this point, he might as well just risk it and get her father's permission. "Is this why you've been weird all day?"

"I just want you to have a nice vacation," he says. She hands over his phone and leaves her hand resting against his diaphragm. He feels her fingers tap against his chest and her lips touch the exposed skin of his neck. "And you need to let me surprise you sometimes."

"Fine," she says with a heavyhearted sigh.

He laughs and turns his body so he can face her. He settles between her thighs, pressing his torso against hers as she slowly lays back onto the bed. He thinks he just might get away with something and her not know about it beforehand.

* * *

His Tuesday is packed full, that doesn't even include all of the things he has to do in the office, but he really doesn't want to get out of bed. Her bedroom is much darker than his so it affords more opportunity to sleep in late. And he's only now realizing how easily he can avoid responsibilities if it means getting to lie in bed with her a little later.

Of course the normal banter of why he's late to work wouldn't quite be the same seeing as she's the one he was lounging in bed. There is a certain ring missing to their banter, but he's willing to give that up for her. Not to mention, their flirty work banter can just constitute as foreplay now. The double entendres will no longer be skirted around for the sake of not opening a whole can of worms. And that's okay.

He loves her so much. But she is a very selfish sleeper. She's a blanket hog. And a bed hog. He likes his space when he sleeps but that really isn't working out in his favor with her. If he isn't cuddling with her then he ends up sleeping on the edge of the bed. When she's awake she's the most considerate person he's ever met.

He moves forward and wraps his arm around her waist, pushing her more towards the other side of the bed. She rolls groggily, pulling his hand between her breasts and pinning it there. He pushes his foot over the back of her knee, his thigh becoming flush with hers. He buries his face into her hair for a brief moment, the thickness of the locks nearly blocking all of the air from his nostrils.

He's hit with the sudden, strong urge to pee. He sighs and pulls on his arm, but she immediately tugs back. He leans forward and slides his rough cheek along her jaw, planting kisses against her skin. She groans in annoyance.

"I need to get up, Babe," he whispers in her ear.

"Just five more minutes," she grumbles. He laughs and shakes his head. He allows himself to imagine her as a job, sleeping in until the very last second, then getting up with no extra time to spare. He truthfully wonders how she even has enough time to get ready.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he tells her. She huffs and pouts but releases his arm anyway. They've only woke up beside each other a handful of times, but he learns something else about her every day. He always imagined she would wake up with a start. He knows now that isn't the case. "I'll be right back, I promise."

"Hurry," she says, pushing at him with one hand, "It's cold."

He gets out of bed, realizing just how right she is when the cold air surrounds him. He shivers and goes into the bathroom before flipping on the light. He squints as he does what he went into the room to do before washing his hands and returning to the bedroom. He spots her already hogging his pillow and taking his place in the bed. And to think, less than a week ago she was out of bed before him.

He crawls back into the bed on her side and scoots a little closer to the middle. He's barely laying all of the way on his back before she rolls towards him. She wraps her arm around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder. He pushes his leg towards her and she's immediately wrapping her leg around his.

"You always been a bed hog?" He asks. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and squeezes her against his chest.

"What?" She mumbles. She lifts her head to look at him. He feels her lips press against his jaw, her hair tickling his face. She says, "I just want to be close to you."

"Okay," he mutters, mocking her pout by jutting out his bottom lip. She's making him go soft. His heart practically melts that she wants to be close to him. He never knew he could feel so in love with someone. He says, "Keep me warm."

She's already fully wrapped around him, but he doesn't actually feel like she's close enough. He's pathetic when he's in love. He's certain it's going to stay that way, too.

"I love you, Harvey," she says, barely loud enough to be heard. His mouth splits into a triumphant grin. No one else could ever make him feel this safe, this good. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd said that before in her sleep state. Verbatim.

"Love you, too, Donna," he replies.


	17. Esoteric

He steadies himself as he walks into the country club. There are two things that he knows: 1, the man cannot afford this country club; and 2, he is really not built for these stuffy people. Thankfully, her father is a hell of a lot easier to find this time than the last time. James is at brunch somewhere in the restaurant, all Harvey has to do is find him.

He scans the room, looking for the stout man with glasses. He spots the aggravating gentleman at a table of other county club members, and begins a clear path for him. On his approach, he reminds himself that he needs to be less combative and gentler if he wants the man's approval. He swallows as he tries to steady himself again, preparing himself to interrupt the conversation.

He shakes his hands out, his nerves on edge. He isn't sure what exactly is making him the most anxious, the prospect of asking her to marry him or approaching her father. The man isn't anything special to make him nervous and, to be quite honest, even without the man's blessing he would still ask her. Her father is damn near irrelevant to their relationship, and nothing could stop him from acting on how he feels about her at this point.

He sighs and saddles up beside the familiar face. James looks over at him and nearly quakes beneath his gaze, shock wracking through him. He smiles tightly, offering the older gentleman a nod.

"James," he says.

"Harvey," James counters, "What are you doing here?"

"I actually," he starts and pauses, letting his nervous feeling roll through his veins, "Can I talk to you for a few minutes? Alone."

"I'm in the middle of brunch," James replies.

"I know," Harvey says with a nod. He quickly reminds himself that he's here to ask the man a favor, for once. He doesn't want to drag this out or make it into the normal pissing contest. "And I'm sorry to interrupt. Please, it's for Donna."

James looks at him long and hard before he finally concedes. He says, "Of course. Give me just a few minutes gentleman."

Harvey watches as James pushes himself to his feet and gestures for him to follow. He follows her father outside, past the porch seating area, and to a more private setting. He does appreciate the greenery. He would almost take up golf, but he just finds the sport extremely boring.

"What can I do for you, Harvey?" James says, turning to look at him.

Harvey gives her father a once over. He's dressed nicely, at least business casual. He's wearing a pair of khakis with a salmon colored polo shirt. He very clearly intends to go golfing after brunch has precluded.

"I know you don't think very highly of me," Harvey starts. He's wearing his blue suit, the one that makes him look the most intimidating and also the most reputable. He was hoping it would help in this situation. "But we need to come to some sort of agreement for Donna."

"Look, Harvey, it isn't that I don't think highly of you," James says, "I think you're a good lawyer and my daughter obviously likes you for whatever reason. But I do think that you're arrogant and a bit of an ass."

"Maybe," he mulls, biting the inside of his cheek for a second, "But your daughter has this amazing ability to read people. Do you think she would stick around if she thought I was that bad?"

"She's always had a blind spot when it comes to you," James says, and Harvey laughs because he's said the same thing about her father, "She loves you."

"About that," he says, releasing a sigh, "I love her, too. That's why I'm here."

"Is everything okay with my daughter?"

"I just wanted to give you the courtesy of knowing that I'm going to ask her to marry me," he says, "I want your approval for her sake, but I'm really not expecting it."

"For what it's worth," James says, "No one else has given me the courtesy of asking for her hand."

"We both know she's going to do what she wants anyway," Harvey says with a laugh. Surprisingly, James laughs softly and nods in agreement.

"She's always been her own person," James agrees, "Good luck, Harvey. And keep taking care of my daughter."

* * *

Ray pulls up to the curb of the busy street. Honking immediately irrupts behind them and Harvey tucks his phone into his coat pocket. He looks out and sees Rachel already standing in front of the jewelry store. He pops open the door, telling Ray to take the afternoon off, and steps out of the Lexus.

"Rachel," he greets, shutting the door, "Thanks for meeting me."

"Mike's already inside," she replies.

"Mike? You brought him?" He says, almost annoyed. He didn't expect her to tell him for some dumb reason. Of course she would tell him. If the roles were reversed, Mike would tell her. And, to be honest, he's extremely surprised she didn't already tell Donna. "How can he help?"

"We were heading for lunch after," she supplies, "You can join us if you want."

"Hm," he hums, "I better get back to the office after this. Donna is probably suspicious enough already."

He remembers that he had tucked his phone away without really responding to Donna's last text, although he doesn't exactly know what he should say. She'd asked when he was returning to the office. She's probably starving. His stomach grumbles immediately in response.

"On second thought," he says, reaching into his pocket for his phone, "Lunch sounds look a good idea."

Rachel laughs and nods while she tucks a hair behind her ear. He tilts his head slightly to the side as he gestures for her to go into the store ahead of him. He follows behind her and is immediately met with a brilliant gleam.

He sees Mike already chatting with a man behind the counter, not even spotting Harvey at first. Rachel charges right to her fiancé and touches his back, bringing Mike's attention from the man. The kid grins widely and announces, "Here's the lucky guy."

"Thanks for your support," he mumbles. He begins to browse the cases of rings but he doesn't have the first idea of what he should be looking for. All he knows is that she deserves diamonds, lots of them. He says, barely above a whisper, "Help me."

"Okay," Rachel says quickly coming to his side, "What are you looking for?"

"I don't even know what to look for," he admits, "I've never done this before."

"When you see the right ring for Donna, you'll know," she says.

He sighs and nods. He doesn't understand anything that she's saying, how that's helpful st all. He looks through the some more, and finally decides he wants the band to have diamonds too. He finally sees one that he kind of likes. It has diamonds lining the band. The shape of the diamond on top has a squarish demeanor, and the color of the metal is neutral enough that it would match anything in her closet.

"How about this one?" He asks Rachel, pointing at a ring.

She looks at it and offers him a smile. She then looks at the man behind the counter. She says, "Can we see this one?"

The man nods and pulls it out for them to get a closer look at it. The better look he gets at it, the more he realizes this is the one for her. She doesn't wear a lot of rings so he at least knows that it'll be special to her.

He says, "I'll give you twenty-eight for it, today."

* * *

He's been aware of the ring in his pocket all day, wondering if she can tell it's there too, and now that he's back at her apartment he doesn't have anywhere that he can hide it. He only has his duffle bag and a few suits at her place, even though they are somehow transitioning to spending all of their time not at the office to her place. He doesn't mind it.

Her apartment feels more like home than his. His apartment feels like a bachelor pad. He doesn't feel like a bachelor anymore, not with an engagement ring in his pocket and the girl of his dreams finally someone he can call his. Not that she belongs to him, she's never belonged to anyone. But she's beside him, just as she always has been.

He's excited about the prospect of being with her for the rest of his life. Looking back, he doesn't think there was a moment that he ever would have had it another way. He's always pictured her being in his life.

Part of him wants to pop the question immediately, to get out of the way before anyone else tells her that he's going to ask. He wants to ask her now, but he knows it won't be romantic enough. She wants something big and showy, a story to tell. His proposal will be within reason. He doesn't want an audience and he really doesn't want anyone else involved. He might as well ask her the moment they get to the hotel.

It occurs to him that is exactly what he should do. He loosens his tie as she changes out of her dress she's been wearing all day. He watches her carefully, almost too distracted by her to even continue thinking. She's always kind of quietly demanded his attention. He's always liked her better than everyone else, too. They have the same taste in everything. He knew they would both prefer the beach over the mountains. He knows everything about her and they are very quickly falling into a routine less than a month after dating. He won't even suggest staying at his apartment without her at this point.

He kicks off his shoes and slowly sits on the side of the bed. By the time he looks up at her, she's wearing a pair of yoga pants and a tanktop with some silk thing draping over her shoulders. He has no idea what the clothing is called, but he knows she's just as pretty as when she's wearing one of those expensive dresses at work. Part of him hopes she doesn't bring any of her flashy attire so that he can get a full view of her outside of work.

"I'm going to order a pizza," she tells him. She closes the space between them and plants a kiss to his cheek. He smiles and can feel her lips at the corner of his mouth. His hand immediately comes up to his hip and he nods so slowly that he doesn't even know for sure if she can tell he's acknowledged her. "Pepperoni okay?"

"Whatever you want," he says with a reassuring smile. She matches his expression.

She grabs her phone from the nightstand and disappears out of her bedroom. He reaches into his pocket and quickly fishes out the ring box, moving to shove it into his duffle bag. Once he has it hidden away, he pulls out his khaki pants and stands to change. He tosses his phone onto the bed and discards his keys and wallet on her nightstand.

He removes his button up shirt and suit pants, tossing them on the bed. He hasn't even managed to pull his khakis on before he feels her arms slide around his waist. Her fingers tap against his stomach before slipping beneath the hem of his undershirt. Her nails drag across his skin and he stills.

"Are you going to keep coming home with me?" She asks, squeezing her arms around him.

"I'm going to run out of clothes soon," he replies. He feels her lips press against his shoulder and her palm flatten against his skin.

"I have a backup suit in the closest, but it isn't your favorite," she replies.

"I'll stop by my apartment in the morning," he says. She releases her hold on him and he pulls his pants on, buttoning them. He pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it on the pile of clothes he's made on the bed. He turns around to get his shirt from his duffle bag. "Do you want me to go get the pizza?"

"We can both go," she says, "Get some gelato and a drink maybe."

He nods and leans down to place his lips on hers. He feels her hands circle his hips and pull him closer, her kiss deepening. He realizes that he hasn't kissed her all day because he's been too busy preparing for his proposal. And he doesn't even want to wait to do it anymore. It's stressing him out.

He doesn't like keeping secrets from her, the one person he tells everything to, but he knows that it's vital to keep this from her. He is, however, extremely surprised that she hasn't done any recon work on him to find out. Him requesting to surprise her is going a hell of a lot better than he expected.

He feels her hands scratch up his torso and slowly wrap around his neck. His mouth opens beneath hers, tongue darting out to slide over her lips. She moans softly at the contact, which prompts a smirk to take over his mouth. She pulls away with a light shake of her head, and the space between them increases as she lowers her heels to the ground.

He pushes his hand over her ass and lightly tape it. He says, "Let me get dressed and we can go."

She nods and quickly pecks his cheek. He watches as she turns sharply on her heel and disappears down the hallways again. He quickly pulls his shirt on over his head and follows her lead. He goes to were his shoes are perched next to hers by the door and pulls them on.

He grabs his jacket and tugs it on, quickly opening the door and stepping outside. She's just a few small steps behind him now, and he has to wait for her to lock the front door. He smirks as she thrusts her keys in his direction and he thinks it would just be so much easier if he had his own key.

They make their way downstairs and onto the street. He knows her favorite pizza place is just a few blocks from her apartment. They don't have an option for delivery so any time she says she's ordering from there he knows that someone is leaving to get the food. It is good, he'll agree, and it has an authentic Italian feel with gelato and a wide selection of wines. He's really learned a lot about her so quickly. She would be impressed.

They walk in a comfortable silence. Her neighborhood can be quite unpredictable, busy with street vendors during the day and no foot traffic at night. He's only been here a few times during the day, mostly during that short period she didn't work st the firm anymore, and he remembers how lively it was quite well.

There are a few people inside of the pizza place, but it's still fairly empty. When they step inside, the kid working instantly recognizes Donna, Harvey can tell because the kid's eyes light up, but the excitement seems to fade when he sees Harvey is with her. Harvey quickly imagines that young men all over the city probably has a crush on her. She really knows how to make someone feel important, even if only for a few minutes.

She offers him a smile as she finds a seat, encouraging him to go to the counter for their food. He rolls his eyes playfully and goes over to the counter where the kid meets him. He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and starts digging through it for some cash.

"Paulsen," he says. He looks at the kid who lightly shakes his head before telling him there isn't a pizza under that name. Harvey tosses a gaze at her over his shoulder and narrows his eyes. She has a coy smirk on her face. He turns his attention back to the kid. He says, "How about Specter?"

He nods immediately. He says, "It's almost ready. I can bring it out to you when it is."

"Can we get a merlot and an IPA?" He says, pulling some more cash out of his wallet. The kid nods in response. Harvey pulls $30 out of his wallet and hands it to the kid behind the counter. "Just keep the change."

He shoves his wallet back into his pocket and heads to her chosen table. He watches as she scoots over in the booth, gesturing for him to sit beside her, and he complies. He doesn't want to be one of those annoying couples he always sees, but he's also spent 13 years just looking at her from across the booth.

He sits down beside her and is slightly taken aback when she reaches for his hand. Not for the first time, he wonders if she's always been so touchy with her boyfriends, or if he's just an exception. He feels her lean heavily against him, her lips skating over his jaw, so quick that he nearly misses it.

"Hey, I still have things to get for our trip," she says softly, "Do you mind if I leave early on Friday?"

"Well," he starts, but pauses. He wants to say yes because he doesn't think they should be running around trying to make sure they have everything ready at the last minute. He wants most of Friday to be as relaxing as possible since their flight leaves early on Saturday. He says, "What does my afternoon schedule look like?"

For a moment he realizes there's such a benefit to being with her. She has his schedule more organized than he ever could, not to mention, she knows everything he needs before he does. She's still learning on the personal front, but he's still trying to make sure they are both putting forth as much effort as the other.

She smiles and pulls out her phone to look through it. After about a minute she looks up. She says, "You have a meeting at one but it shouldn't last long."

"Why don't we both go?" He suggests.

"You know I'm going shopping, right?"

"We have gone shopping before," he reminds her.

He smirks and wraps his arm around her middle, pulling her substantially closer to his lap. He leans in and quickly captures her lips with his own, the surprise prompting her hands to come up and cup his face. The kiss is soft, comforting, and he takes note of just how much he likes kissing her. He can't believe that he deprived himself of it for so long.

He hears something being placed on the table and shifts his eyes towards the sound, his lips gradually leaving hers. He nods and mutters his thanks to the kid for bringing their drinks. When he looks back over at her she looks a bit sheepish. He shrugs in response.

He doesn't care what people think about them, never really has.

* * *

With 3 glasses of wine in her, she's a mixture of sleepy and touchy-feely. He's noticed this bit over the course of the last few weeks. It really helps that he's wanted to be close to her almost non-stop throughout the day. Well, it hasn't helped his mental state as much as it keeps him from being annoyed when she throws her legs across his lap and touching him all of the time. It's almost like torturing himself to be around her all day, thinking about what she looks like under that dress but not being able to touch her.

He has noticed that even their most basic conversations are slowly becoming more intimate. The normal space between them is beginning to decrease. The overall way that they interact has become softer. He is more aware of the way that he speaks to her. And her tone has become more sultry like maybe she is challenging him to take her right there in the middle of his office. He would, too, if it weren't for all of that responsibility looming overhead.

So, instead, he settles for going home with her and eating take out or a salad while sharing her bottle of wine. The television graces them with late night entertainment, and he wonders if she has any regular shows that she watches. She drapes her legs over his lap as she sits in the corner of the couch, his feet propped up on the table. Or, she pulls her legs up beneath her, her body so close to his that she brushes against him with every movement. Sometimes she plays with her phone, and he will catch a glimpse every now and then to see various different things - a news article, a silly game, a text message, even Facebook.

He didn't know that she had a Facebook. Perhaps she uses it quite often, typing out things like "oh, Harvey is such a handful" or "dinner with the boyfriend." Perhaps she does not mention him at all. He wonders if she's changed her relationship status to "in a relationship" with men before him, if they've linked their accounts. He wonders if her account says that now.

He, himself, does not have a Facebook. Well, he does, but he hasn't even looked at it in a very long time. If he did check it, maybe he could see some pictures of his nephews, of his mother with his nephews. Maybe he could have Donna show him. Maybe he could put that he is engaged to her on his page, post some pictures from their trip.

His fingers trickle up her leg, painting shapes against her exposed skin. He looks over at her, lips pursed tightly, and sees her arching an eyebrow at him. He swallows and tilts his chin down. He waits for her to put her phone down before he pushes his fingers further up her legs. He presses his palm into her thigh and gets a handful, fingers digging slightly into her skin.

"Babe," she warns, "Don't."

"Babe," he mocks, "Can you stop touching me?"

"I didn't say that," she says. He watches as a pout takes over her features. He shakes his head, releasing his grasp on her, and retreats his hand. She reaches out quickly, catching it. She adds, "Don't be like that."

She pulls his hand back to her thigh and pushes it all the way around her hip. He keeps staring at her as she moves to position herself straddling his lap. She settles her hands on his shoulders and leans into him, her torso touching his.

"We seem like an old married couple already," he points out. There he goes again, bringing up marriage. He's going to give himself away.

"That's because we are way past the getting-to-know-you stage," she replies.

"You don't know everything about me," he challenges.

"You don't know everything about me," she corrects, "You, on the other hand, are so easy for me to read. I see right through you, Harvey Specter, and you really need to think of a better way to initiate sex."

"That's still new to me," he admits, "Women are usually just throwing themselves at me, literally asking me to have sex with them."

"Yes, but," she says, exaggerating the but, "You weren't in love with them."

"Because I'm in love with you," he replies, confusion washing over him, "And I want to show you just how much."

"You're so cute," she mutters. Her hands run over his chest and to his stomach, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. Her fingers are cold, and she leans braces herself there as she leans forward. He can feel her lips hovering over his. She says, "And I can't wait to go to the beach with you, drink margaritas, go into the ocean, have sex all over that hotel room."

"That sounds nice," he says in a breath.


	18. Cohabitation

The start of their trip has been the absolute fucking worst. They weren't even in the car when she was ready to put a kabosh on the whole trip. She'd packed her passport but then couldn't remember where so she went back into her apartment 3 times before she looked into her purse and realized it had been there the whole time. She was testing his patience. Certainly not on purpose, but his patience was particularly thin this morning. Which was partially his fault for not sleeping, but she was also being somewhat ridiculous.

When they did finally get to the airport, the line to get through security was long and they were both starving. She had to pee twice in the 45 minutes it took for them to get to the point of no return. And, again, it's partially his fault because he's never really travelled commercially and the one time he travelled with a woman it was on a private jet.

Then, when they were waiting to board their flight, his annoyance shifted from her to the crowd around them. Not even coffee could help. Mostly because the airport coffee was shitty, but also because everyone was just so damn loud. He didn't think many people flew on Saturday morning, but here it was, not even 9am, and he felt like he was going to scream. He felt a little jealous when he looked over at her, peacefully entertaining herself by thumbing through a magazine and sipping on her shitty airport coffee. At least he'd gotten a donut into his stomach by that point.

Lastly, when they did finally get boarded and she'd graciously let him have the window seat while she took the middle, the plane was slightly delayed due to a jammed airstrip. He was getting cranky, and she could really tell that donut just wasn't hitting the spot. Once they were finally in the air, things seemed to go a bit more smoothly.

Until they landed and didn't see her checked bag at baggage claim. He almost made some comment about how she didn't really need any clothes but thought if he wanted their arrival to the hotel to go as planned then he better keep his mouth shut. The bag did eventually show up, it was just the last one to arrive. Of course their driver to the hotel is nice enough, and gets them there quickly. It's just passed noon and she's already grumbling about lunch.

The second they walk into the lobby, one of her bags in one of his hands and his two in his other hand, he instantly feels nervous. The reality is settling in. It isn't that he wants to back out, it's just that with today not necessarily going that well and them actually spending most of the day arguing just doesn't feel like it's the perfect proposal that she deserves.

However, the hotel room is all set up. The bell man is all set to record it. And he's perfectly placed the ring in his pocket while she was in the bathroom at the airport. He really doesn't want her to be extremely annoyed when he pops the question, especially considering that he's been so close to just asking her for the last few days so many times.

He feels hot and a little bit sweaty as they approach the welcome counter. He's a little bit uncomfortable as he settles all of the bags on the ground and wipes his palms off on the thighs of his pants. He reaches into his front pocket for his wallet, the one opposite of the ring, and shakily gets out his driver's license and his credit card.

"Hi. Reservation under Harvey Specter," he says. He sets the two cards onto the counter and slides them closer to the man.

The man nods and begins tapping away at the computer. The guy slowly lifts his gaze to him and gives him a sly look, which Harvey immediately counters with a glare. The smirking man returns to his task in front of him, doing a few more things.

"We have you in our harbourfront suite," he finally says, "Greg will escort you to your room."

Harvey nods, taking his card and drivers license back from the man. He stuffs the two things back into his wallet and hides his wallet away back in his pocket. He picks up his duffle bag but allows the bell man to take the rest that he'd carried in. He also reaches out to take her bag, surprised when she hands it over without a fight.

He feels her mood slowly shifting as she presses her palm against his back, and he looks over at her to see a slight smile. His nerves ease up a little bit, but he still think he might be sweating. They take the elevator to their floor and follow Greg to their door. Harvey feels his heart stop beating as Greg pops the door open and holds it for them to enter, leaving their bags in the hallway.

Harvey takes a look around the room. There are dozens of roses and lighted candles spread throughout. He watches as she takes it all in, the view of the ocean in the background. He sucks in a deep breath, dropping the bags to the floor on either side of him. He can tell she's speechless and a grin spreads across his face in response.

He reaches into his pocket, taking the black, velvet box out. He releases a massive breath, like he's activating that part of his brain where he involuntarily breathes. He lowers himself to the ground, propping himself on one knee and committing himself to a balancing act. He swallows thickly, expelling another breath.

"Did you do this?" She asks, turning around, "Oh my god."

She nearly recoils when they lock eyes. The sight before her has completely taken her off guard, and for probably the first and only time in their long life together he has surprised her. He hasn't rehearsed what to say. He hasn't even thought about it. But, looking at her in her white sun dress with flowers fashioned on it, he knows that he really should have prepared himself better somehow because he can't think of anything other than her.

"You're my best friend and the love of my life, you're easily the best thing that could have ever happened to me," he says, softly. He sucks in a deep breath and pops open the ring box, but her eyes never leave his. He can see tears are forming in them. Tears fill in his eyes too because, no matter what, he can't stand it when she cries. He steadies himself and fights through the strain in his throat to say, "Donna Paulsen, will you marry me?"

He barely has the words out before she's bending down to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck. She kneels down before him, her lips immediately sliding over his jaw and his cheek before they touch his mouth. He can feel the hot tears transfer from her cheeks to his, and he slips his arms around her waist. I He clutches the ring box tight in one hand as he realizes just how small she feels in his arms.

"Is that a yes?" He whispers.

"Yes," she replies through a laugh as she pulls back to press both of her hands against his chest, "The answer has always been yes."

He feels her hands slip down his torso and round his waist, upper arms squeezing his ribcage as she kisses him again. He returns her kiss with great fervor, one of the tears at the brink of his eye managing to slip over. His body fills with warmth at the feel of her, the realization that she's accepted his proposal and still hasn't even put on the ring suddenly hitting him.

"Wait," he announces, pulling back. He brings his hands around to the space between them and perches the ring between two fingers. He lifts it up in the space between them. He says, "Your hand?"

"Oh, right," she says, like she's just realizing for the first time that there's actually a ring. He smiles and slips the ring onto her finger, but she still hasn't even looked at the piece of jewelry that will accompany her for the rest of her life. "This is like a dream."

"It is," he agrees.

He shoves the ring box back into his bag and settles his hands on her hips. He helps her stand upright before following her lead. He kisses her again, briefly, before pulling her into his arms again. He doesn't plan on letting her go unless he absolutely has to.

* * *

He watches the harbour in action as he waits for her to get ready so they could go grab a bite to eat. He'd finally let her go after he was sure she was done crying, which only took about 20 minutes, and suggested going to get some lunch. That was nearly 15 minutes ago. He doesn't even know what she needed to freshen up, she looked perfect.

He feels the pressure on his shoulder change and shifts his gaze to the culprit. His eyes immediately settle in the diamond on her finger, a smirk meeting his mouth. Slowly, he lifts his hand and wraps his fingers around her wrist. He tugs on her arm, pulling her around to his lap.

He feels her slide her right arm around his shoulders and holds her left hand out in front of her, looking at the ring. He wonders if it's larger than others she's seen, if it's comparable, if she likes it the most of all of the ones she's seen. He secures his arms around her and lightly presses his lips against her jaw.

"This ring really is beautiful," she says.

"I did good then?" He asks.

"You did good," she confirms. She leans her jaw into his lips again, her hands sliding over his arms. She says, "It was a wonderful proposal."

"You said it better be the best since it's the last," he reminds her, "And I knew that if I gave you time to figure it out then you would, so I thought I should just ask as soon as we got here."

She buries her head into the crook of his neck and hums. She says, "We're engaged."

"Maybe you could teach me how to change my Facebook thing to that," he replies.

"You don't even use your Facebook," she replies with a laugh. He gives her a look that prompts her to shake her head. She says, "Harvey, I sent you a friend request like two years ago. Do you even remember your password?"

"My password is Donna," he says with a smirk. A smile toys in her lips as she pulls her left hand around to his face, thumb sweeping over his cheekbone and the pad of her pinky finger just barely pressing against his neck. He's astutely aware of the ring on her finger, a prominent addition mostly because she doesn't really wear rings that often. After 13 years, he knows that. "Is it too soon to be engaged?"

"We obviously don't do things in a traditional way," she replies.

"I did at least ask your father," he says. She quirks an eyebrow in response, kind of like she doesn't believe him. And, he isn't entirely telling the truth anyway. He relents and says, "Okay, more like told him, but the sentiment was there."

"That sounds more like you," she says. She presses her lips against the skin just below his ear and slowly drags them to his neck. Her tongue darts out against his flesh and she quickly bites before pulling back just as quickly. "You've always known you don't want to lose me and, I think, we were always inevitable. We are going to get tired of each other at times, but I'm never going to leave you."

"I've never cared about anyone else like I care about you, you know that right?" He asks.

"I think we need to not worry what's right for anyone else and worry about what's right for us," she says, "And you are right for me. I want to be with you. I love our time together. And I said yes because I can picture myself being married to you, and only you. You said that we are like an old married couple, and you're right. Most couples don't know each other as well as we know each other, and I think we're lucky to be together."

"I'm the lucky one," he says.

"And you keep saying things like that," she teases, one finger pressing against his chest, "You might just make everyone else jealous because my man is better than theirs."

He perks up at her calling him that, a warmth flowing through him. He feels his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He really can't believe he gets to spend the rest of his life with this woman. He says, "You're making me into a hopeless romantic."

"My plan is working," she says with a grin.

He feels her fingers at the nape of his neck and he presses his fingers into her hip in response. Their lips meet somewhere in the space between them. They kiss for a bit, his tongue flicking against her lip, her mouth parting beneath his, a sense of urgency existing between them as they deny themselves the overall pleasure of giving in completely.

* * *

She's captivating in the sunlight, the moonlight, in everything that she does, and he can't stop looking at her. She, on the other hand, keeps looking at the ring, which he assumes is a good thing, especially since she seems to have a smile plastered on her face. Perhaps it is not the ring she unequivocally loves, but what the ring represents. He supposes it will take some time for her to get used to it always being placed on her finger, that she may be constantly be aware of it. It is relatively large anyhow, kind of an obstruction that he wonders whether it will be distracting or not.

He is and always has been distracted by her. Although she is extremely attractive, and her closet really accentuates her features, her brain has always been her most distracting feature. To him anyway. He loves her whit and sarcasm, the way she knows everything, knows what he's thinking and what he needs. He's always loved everything about her, always trusted her with his life. She's always been his everything.

He suddenly feels overwhelmed at the thought, at how he's always had her by his side and how he will have her there until the day that he dies. They haven't made it to the beach yet because they were both too tired after lunch. The sun set just minutes ago, and she's been unpacking her bags and storing her things away since they are going to be here for a week.

He pulls out his phone to shoot his brother a text. He types the words out: I asked Donna to marry me. She said yes.

He didn't quite divulge his plan to anyone, although he did ask a few opinions. Rachel didn't know that he was going to ask right away even though she did help pick out the ring. And Mike's overbearing nature had somehow stayed out of this as Mike hasn't much shared his opinion on Harvey asking. He figures the groom doesn't much care about who is engaged when Rachel's feelings were most important. Not that he had been too welcoming about their engagement.

He realizes that he hasn't even gotten to make love to her since he proposed. He decides to abandon his position on the balcony, not that he's very good at going without entertainment anyway, and begins to search for her. He finds her in the bedroom, beginning to unpack his bag, and he immediately wonders how many times she's been on a trip with a lover. He quickly chastises himself for going there again because he knows he doesn't have to worry about any of those other guys, but he wants to treat her better. That's what she deserves.

"You don't have to do that, babe," he says. The term of endearment falls out of his mouth so naturally.

He comes up behind her and, as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, he slides his hands to her hips. He steps up behind her, fully securing his arms around her waist, and presses a kiss to her neck. She seems to relent in his embrace, one hand sliding to the nape of his neck and her back leaning against his chest.

For a moment, he allows himself to envision their future together. He ponders on what kind of wife she will be, or what kind of wife she's wanted to be. Is she the kind of woman who wants to take care of her husband? Do his laundry, clean their house, make him dinner? He's been doing his own laundry for years. He has a maid to clean his house and doesn't plan on that changing. And she's an awful cook. Ultimately, he doesn't care what it entails; he just wants to be her husband.

She turns in his arms to face him, and his fingers press into the top of her ass as he pulls her closer. She closes the space between them as she rises, and her parted lips land on his. He pushes his hands fully over her ass and lifts her into his arms. She pulls back with a sigh, wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing her fingers into the back of his neck. She throws her head back slightly and he presses his lips against her throat.

His tongue sweeps over her skin, teeth scraping there, and she releases a soft moan. It's barely loud enough for him to hear, but he can't help when he pulls back to grin at her. She shakes her head quickly, mouth curling upward in amusement.

She says, "Thank you."

He furrows his eyebrows in response, confused about her sudden proclamation. Her gratitude isn't necessary, by any means, but he doesn't even particularly know what she would be saying that for. He steps towards the bed and bends down to settle her on the mattress.

"What are you thanking me for?" He asks, moving a hand to either one of her thighs. He kneels down before her.

"For everything," she replies. He feels her hands settle on his shoulders, her knees pressing into his collarbones. If he looks down he can see up her dress, and he does so, politely, but he doesn't let his gaze linger. "For the vacation, the proposal, the beautiful ring. You've been so sweet and I just, I love you."

"I love you," he says. She smiles shyly and he watches as tears flood her vision. He shakes his head there, lifting both hands from her thighs to press his thumbs against her cheeks so he can wipe away the tears as they fall. "Why are you crying?"

"These are happy tears," she reassures.

He nods and says, "I'm happy, too."

She lifts her hands to his shoulders then and pulls him towards her. Lips parted, he crushes his mouth against hers and kisses her deeply, letting her lead the moment. He doesn't like when she cries, even if the tears are of the happy nature - it all looks the same from the outside. Her tongue flits against his bottom lip and her fingernails dig into his flesh just beneath the collar of his shirt.

He feels her calves glide over his hipbones and hook around his waist again, encouraging him to settle between her legs. He moves one hand to the mattress to brace himself so he doesn't crush her beneath his weight, while his other hand glides down her front. His hand quickly slips beneath the hem of her dress, toying with the skin of her inner thigh by drawing shapes with his fingertips.

His shirt slips up his back as he leans over her. They kiss for awhile, her palms etching over his chest and pushing against his stomach. He feels her fingers tap against his skin as she works her hands around his sides, sliding up the path of his spine. Her fingertips are warm against his shoulders as she grasps onto him tightly and arches her back until he feels her stomach press against his.

He thinks about how strong her fingers feel, about how easily he could break beneath her touch. He thinks about the hot metal touching his skin, the way her hand feels heavier now than it did before. He thinks about how small she seems beneath him. He thinks about how her waist is scarcely small. He thinks about how her breasts are prominent on her chest region and perfectly perky compared to any other pair that he's seen. He thinks about the way she feels beneath him, her leg muscles flexing so much. He thinks she's spent the entirety of her 38 years on earth taking care of her body.

He breathes her in. They smell oddly similar, their scents beginning to mix with great ease. She smells a mixture of his aftershave and her wildly expensive perfume, some Louboutin brand that could easily catch the attention of anyone who passes her by. He has to pull back to fully regain control of his breathing, resting his forehead against hers as he steadies himself from their kissing.

She takes this opportunity to tug on his shirt, to pull it over his head and let her fingers graze his biceps. The movement tickles his skin enough to make the muscles twitch, a sly smirk kissing her mouth. Her feather light touch makes him shiver above her as he pushes himself up onto his knees so she can completely pull his shirt off. She tosses the clothing onto the floor.

Her fingers return to his stomach and trail to the button of his pants. She unbuttons his khakis but he moves just out of her reach before she can unzip them. He wants to prolong this, to savor every second until it's the only thing she can remember. He takes both of her hands in his and slips each of his fingers between hers, interlocking their fingers, grasping her hands in his. He pushes his weight down on their entwined hands, pinning the back of her hands against the mattress above their heads, and he hunches over to kiss her once more.

He plants kisses on her lips, her jaw, her neck, her collarbones, between her breasts were the material exposes just a little bit. He swirls his tongue there, tasting her, the ocean air having stuck to her skin. Her hands squeeze his tighter until her nails dig into his skin, her hips bucking slightly, and he bits at the roundness of her left breast and begins to suck on her flesh.

She hums softly and breathes a warning - "Harvey, don't."

Just like old times, but very unlike old times. He lifts his head from her chest and blows a breath. He feels her hips shimmy against his. He smirks in return. A sultry look fills her gaze, which prompts him to kiss his way back up to her mouth. His grasp on her hands loosens and he releases her left hand. His right hand skates down the length of her, slipping beneath her dress. She inhales sharply as he touches her, his fingers dangerously close to her panty line.

He feels her left hand rise to his face, fingers etching behind his ear on her trail to drag her hands through his hair. He supposes it's possible she does it because he'll allow her now, because secretly her running her hands through his hair always did something to him. He loses his ability to multitask, lifts his lips from hers and lets them hover above hers. His nose slides against hers.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of her panties and gives them a tug. She laughs deep into the back of her throat, like a giggle, like a bellow that echoes against the harbour as the waves crash into the beach. He likes the sound, he's always liked it better than any one of his records.

He takes his other hand out of hers and moves to his back, wrapping a hand around her ankle to remove her grasping legs around his waist. She pouts for a moment as he leans back to tug her panties down her legs. As he stands, he lets his pants drop to the floor and kicks them off. He quickly removes the remainder of his clothes, letting his boxers drop as well. She sits up and pulls her sundress off over her head. He helps her and tosses it onto the floor beside the growing pile of clothes.

He reaches forward and rounds his hand around her back. Pressing his knee against the mattress between her legs, he leans forward. He kisses her softly as he unhooks the latch in her bra and pulls it down her arms to release her breasts from confinement. He looks down at her as she scoots back into the center of the bed, watching her exposed body beneath him as she moves. He follows her, palms pressing on either side of her as he lifts his gaze to hers.

"Shit," he mutters, "I don't have a condom and you're so beautiful."

"I'm on the pill," she replies.

He exhales in relief as her hands come up to his shoulders, tugging him down on top of her. He moves his hand to her breast, thumb sweeping over her nipple. She shudders slightly, her hands sliding down his chest and swooping around his middle. She claws into him as he kisses her jaw, biting lightly at her skin.

"You're amazing," she says through a moan.

He removes his lips from her skin to grin, to plant a kiss on her mouth and sweep his tongue over her lips. His hand brushes over her skin from her breast to her ankle, one slow finger at a time, until he can squeeze her ankle to hook her leg around his waist again. He perches his erection at her opening, feeling just how wet she is, and growls into his throat. He thrusts into her quickly, and slowly pulls out until she whimpers against his lips.

Her other leg hooks around his waist, calf settling just above his hipbone, and she uses her leg muscles to pull him forward. She widens her thighs and arches her back, allowing him to delve deeper into her. She sighs and moans. The feel of her around him makes him groan loudly. His parted lips sink into her neck, hot breath kissing her skin.

He feels sweat lining his forehead, her deft fingers pressing hard into his back until moon shapes linger in his skin. His hand searches for hers again, somehow still not feeling close enough even though he is literally inside of her. But she waves his hand off, circling her arms around his shoulders to hold him flush against her. He slips his hands beneath her back, rolling his hips. She moans again and again, his name falling off of her lips, and it encourages him to thrust harder, faster.

"Oh god," he moans, "I'm going to cum."

She doesn't say anything, just pressing her tongue just below his ear and slides it across his jaw. His breath hitches in his throat. He cums with a start, his body slick with sweat and his muscles breaking out into spasms. He pulls a hand down between them, pressing his index finger into her clit. He stills his hips but runs circles there, a quick rhythm until she's moaning for longer lulls. He suddenly feels the walls of her contract around him and he nearly can't breathe again.

She has to release his hold on him to slap his hand away from her pelvic region. He laughs gently, lifting his right hand to search for her left one. He pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles before offering her a tight smile. He leans down and kisses her softly, lips lingering there as she moves her palm over his bicep.

Stupidly, he pushes himself up like he's doing a push up, and he moves his hips slowly. He groans and shakes his head. Any further movement is an awful idea, and he is ready to just collapse right there. She pushes her hands into his spine and pulls him down.

"Don't move," she says softly, nearly pleading.

He nods slowly, lowering his torso back onto her. He allows himself to bask in her embrace, thinking about their life together both past and future. He deems himself to live in this moment with her, reminding himself to appreciate her better than he ever did before.


	19. Paradiso

_This is drawing to a close, but I may be able to feed you another couple of chapters of vacation. Thank you for reading, and please drop a line of how you feel after reading this._

* * *

He leans against the doorframe watching her as she sleeps. She is, not surprisingly, in the middle of the bed, sprawled out and taking over both sides of the king size bed, the sheet hugging her tightly. He isn't even sure that he could comfortably get back into bed if he wanted to with the amount of space that she's claiming.

Breakfast was delivered just a few minutes ago but, despite the food being hot, he just couldn't wake her yet. She looks adorable with her hair disheveled and her makeup removed. She always credits her beauty to the magic of makeup, but he knows that she doesn't really need it. Before he had always suspected, but now he knows for sure that she's the most beautiful woman in the room no matter what.

He musters everything inside of him to rouse her. Pushing off of the doorframe, he crosses the bedroom to get to the side of the bed. He crawls onto it, only enough to sit down beside her, and he leans down to brush his fingers through her hair. She moves a little, his fingertips stopping at the base of her neck at the back of her head. He leans down, softly kissing her lips until she begins to respond.

"Morning," she mutters. She immediately stretches and seems to realize she doesn't have any clothes on after round 2 the night before. He smirks and smooths his fingertips down her arm until it comes to a stop at her hand. "You're up. Why are you up?"

"I ordered breakfast," he replies. He throws his shoulders back and sits a little taller. He's proud of himself for getting up early enough to order her breakfast before she woke up. His thumb brushes over the ring on her hand and it slightly twists. It seems to fit her perfectly though. "It's in the living room, but I can bring it to you."

She shakes her head in protest and tightens the sheet around her as she moves to get up. She moves across him and he can't help himself when he circles her hips with his hands to pull her to him. She releases her grasp on the sheet to catch herself, pressing her hands against his chest. The sheet falls open and exposes her fully to him.

He grins widely, moving his hand to her stomach and letting it trail down her front. She squirms a bit, coincidentally straddling his thigh. He can feel her folds pressed against his skin, and she pushes down further against him. He watches a sparkle alight in her eye as he touches her, both hands now mapping her thighs. He digs his thumbs into the crevices where her thighs and her pelvis meets.

She slides her hands down his front, palm brushing his growing erection, and they come to a stop on his thighs. They are locked into a stalemate for just a few moments before his gaze trails over her white skin again. He circles her wrists with his hands and uses all of his strength to switch their positions, her now beneath him. Her fingers tightly grasp the front of his shirt, fingers of her other hand slipping beneath the leg of his boxers.

He looks down at her, the way she's completely vulnerable to him making him feel like she trusts him. His gaze drinks her in, etching a memory of her like this into his brain. He leans down to kiss her cheek, jaw, neck. He kisses a trail over her breasts, across her stomach, each hip. Her hand is now threaded in his hair, tugging lightly with every kiss. He pushes his thumb against her inner thigh, encouraging her to open herself up to him. She slowly complies.

He continues kissing her skin, her thigh, tongue flitting out every once in a while. He can feel her heat against his lips before he ever places his mouth against her slit. When he does, she moan quietly. He darts his tongue over her, weaving it within her for a moment before he presses it flat against her bundle of nerves. She tugs on his hair, prompting him to jerk upward a bit. He pushes his hand forward, delving his index finger into her center. She is hot and wet and ready.

He laps at her, tongue stroking her clit as she writhes beneath his hand. He does this until he can't breathe, so he pulls back to steady himself. He pushes his hand across her skin, thumb hooking in every natural dip of her skin. He slides his index finger over her clit before working it around her thigh. He steadies both hands around her hips, fingers pressing into her ass, and he lifts her upward.

He kisses her inner thigh again, recreating the trail before he delves his tongue into her. She moans, hips bucking. He bites and sucks until she cums with a scream, one hand over her mouth while the fingertips of her other hand lingers near his hair. With a final kiss, he pulls back, breathless and hot. He moves his hands to her hips as he uses her body to brace himself moving upright.

He looks at her. Her eyes are dark and she looks spent, looks like she maybe forgot to breathe. She offers him a tired smile, eyes a small slit, and reaches for the edge of the sheet to cover herself. He shakes his head, pulling the sheet back open and staring at her again. He leans down to plant kisses along her torso, along her breasts, to show her an appreciation he hasn't known how to before. He hasn't gone down on many women because he hasn't much cared about many women he's dated, but he doesn't much mind it with her. Honestly, he doesn't even care about her returning the favor like he's cared about in the past.

"I love you," he mumbles between kisses. He hears her laugh softly, almost inaudible, and he glances at her. Her mouth is open, index finger perched between her teeth. It nearly gets him going again. The sunlight gleams off of her ring and it nearly blinds him. "What's that look for?"

"What look?"

"The look like you're not finished yet," he says with a smirk.

"I need a few minutes to recover," she admits.

His smirk widens into a grin and he moves off of her, sitting upright. He watches as she pulls the sheet tightly around her before he gets off of the mattress. He goes into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

After a few minutes of cleaning himself up, he goes into the living room where she's sitting at the small table munching on some food. He offers her a smile as he sits in the chair opposite from her and reaches for a slice of bacon. She swallows her food and stands from the chair. She extends her hand to him and he takes it, slightly confused. She lowers herself onto his lap and leans back, her shoulder just beneath his chin.

He thinks about how in love with her he is. For a moment, he hates his younger self for accepting her terms when she told him if she came to work with him then he could never bring it up. He should have fought for her. She challenged him time and time again, he was just always afraid that she would reject him, that she wouldn't make an exception to the rule for him. He hates himself because they could have been doing this, taking vacation and being in love, for years but he was too scared to fight for what he wanted. He was too afraid that he would make a mistake by not letting her in, but he accidentally let her in anyway.

He wraps both arms around her middle and holds her tightly. She reaches for a strawberry off of the table and offers him a bite. He takes the proffered strawberry into his mouth and bites down.

She says, "You should probably move in with me."

"What?" He says, a small laugh escaping his mouth. For some reason, he hasn't even entertained the idea of living together even though he spent the last week at her apartment.

"I am not living in that bachelor pad of yours," she replies. She takes the remainder of the strawberry into her mouth and bites down. He sighs. He wouldn't expect her to move in to his place, even though it's larger. To be entirely honest, he thinks they would need to find a larger place where they could fit all of their things. She discards the top of the strawberry onto an empty plate, swallows, and says, "You can move your stuff into my place and list your condo on Air BnB."

"I'm not doing that," he replies decidedly. He won't waver his decision. He sinks his teeth into her bare shoulder and says, "My clothes won't even fit in your closet. How would anything of mine fit into your apartment?"

"It's only temporary," she says with a reassuring smile. She turns slightly on his lap, sweeping her arm around his shoulders. Her breasts are in his face and he knows immediately that she's using her exposed cleavage to her advantage. He quirks an eyebrow in amusement. She adds, "Until we can find a place big enough for the both of us. My apartment is rent controlled."

"My apartment is paid off," he points out. He smirks when she hesitates. The fact is that she won't move into his condo and he knows that. Hell, he prefers her apartment over his at this point. "We don't have to commit to anything right now."

She gives him an annoyed look. He sighs in defeat. Squeezing her tightly, he drops his lips to her shoulder. He says, "I didn't mean it like that."

"All I'm saying," she retorts forcefully, "Is if you move in with me and list your condo on Air BnB then, in the mean time, we can make enough money to pay for the apartment and a little extra to save for a bigger place that we both absolutely love."

He huffs and buries his face into her neck. He says, "You've really given this a lot of thought."

"It's just one of the things I've been thinking about since yesterday," she admits.

"What else have you been thinking?" He ventures.

"Well," she starts, but she pauses to reach for another slice of bacon. She takes a bite, then offers him one. He takes a bite, teeth settling close to her fingers. He chews on his bite as she swallows hers. She says, "Just things like holidays and, do you even know my birthday?"

"Who do you think sends you flowers on your birthday every year?" He answers, giving her a pointed look, "Two dozen red roses every July twenty-fourth."

"They're both from you?" She squeals. She immediately starts grumbling under her breath. He nods his confirmation. He kisses her shoulder again. "I thought at least one of them was from my father. The other I just thought was secret admirers then Louis. He usually goes over the top for these things."

"Nope," he says, "Both me. Sorry to disappoint."

"I have to tell you something," she says, solemnly.

"Okay," he says slowly, a little nervous to hear what she has to tell him.

He loosens his grasp on her as she moves, pulling the sheet further up her legs so she can turn to face him. Confused, he lifts his hands to her hips and helps her settle into her new seat on his lap. He feels her hands slide across his shoulders and stop where his spine rolls into his neck.

"I always cried on my birthday," she says.

"What?" He says aggressively, not quite letting her explain further, eyebrows furrowing, "Why?"

"Because I thought you didn't care," she admits, "And after the eleventh birthday, I told myself I didn't care anymore either. I just didn't listen."

"Oh, baby," he hums, "I would have done anything for you. I've always just wanted you to be happy."

"And, for the most part, I have been," she replies, "But, what's important, is that I'm engaged to the love of my life."

"Damn right you are," he says with a grin.

He pulls one hand into the space between them and slips it into the sheet wrapped around her. His fingertips find her stomach and moves to her hip. His other hand lifts to brush the hair from her face as he leans in to kiss her, mouth lightly touching hers. Her lips are warm. Her hands slide down his chest and wrap around his middle, thumbs digging into his ribs.

He can't believe that she could be as in love with him as he is with her. He never thought that would happen to him. He should have known better the day he met her.

* * *

After a day of sitting by the pool with margaritas, he feels a bit more tired than usual. His skin is red, ridden with a relentless sunburn; meanwhile, his fair skinned fiancée is barely pink. She'd said something about dinner earlier, but after he'd showered he just realized that it hurts too much to move.

For once, he's sprawled across the bed and taking up as much room as possible. He drank too many margaritas and succumbed himself to too much heat. Now he feels sick to his stomach.

She comes out of the bathroom wrapped up in a towel and she looks beautiful, with her wet red hair curling at the ends and face void of makeup. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to convince her just how beautiful she is without the war paint. She looks rejuvenated, not even half as tired as he is. Obviously, the sunburn has drained him. He can't even put on a shirt because it hurts too badly.

"You okay, honey?" She asks.

"I can't move," he admits. She moves over to the dresser and looks through it for some under garments to put on. She slips on a pair of black panties and pulls off the towel, using it to dry her hair. He knows that she could easily give him an I-told-you-so when she warned him to put on more sunscreen but he didn't. He sighs. "I should have listened."

She laughs softly. She finds a bra and puts it on. He watches her intently, never quite understanding the process of putting that particular piece of clothing on, and noting that she does it with such ease. She turns to face him, discarding the towel on the closest chair, and crosses the room to the bed.

"Let me put some aloe on your burn," she says. He groans and nods slowly. He really doesn't want her to take care of him, but he knows it's in her nature. Once again, he lets his mind go there in wondering if this is how she was with other men. "This should take out some of the sting."

He feels the mattress shift under her weight. He turns his head to watch her. She squirts some aloe into her hand and places it on his chest, rubbing the liquid in. Her hands are cool with the aloe on them. His eyes trail over her frame. If he weren't in so much pain, he'd practically be throwing himself at her.

"I've given it some thought," he starts.

He has been thinking about what she said earlier all day, about the moving in thing. He can afford to buy them a new place money isn't an issue. He isn't sure what her concern actually is, why she thinks that he should put his place on whatever that thing was. He wants her to be happy and he wants to live with her. He'd be happy to do that anywhere.

"What?" She hums. She lightly taps his hip and he musters all of his strength to roll over. He transfers his weight onto his stomach, groaning. He hears the noise of her squirting more aloe into her hand.

He shifts his gaze to her. He says, "The moving thing. I want to live with you and I'll do that anywhere. We just have a lot of stuff."

"Like I said," she replies, "It's only temporary. Until we find another place. But I love you. If you can't part with your condo then we'll live there."

"Money isn't the issue," he says.

"I know you believe that, but you've worked hard. You shouldn't have to pay for it all. I don't make as much as you, but I want to contribute something," she says. He gets it. He doesn't know much about relationships, but he does know that they both have fairly expensive tastes and ludicrous spending habits. If they're going to have a future together then they need to think about that. She says, "We just need to save for a new place and the wedding. And you just bought this expensive ring. We need to be more frugal. But I love shoes."

Her hands come to a stop on his back, the cool breeze making a shiver skate down his spine. He watches her jut her bottom lip out into a pout at the idea of not being able to buy new pairs of shoes. He laughs softly, shaking his head. He rolls onto his side, reaching out and wrapping his hands around her middle. He pulls her towards him, his skin stinging at the contact.

"I have plenty of money," he reminds her, "I know you know how much is in all of my accounts. You can keep buying shoes and dresses and hand bags. Don't worry about money, okay? That's never mattered to me."

"It matters to you a little," she refutes, carefully snuggling into him.

"Not when it comes to you," he disagrees, "You're all that matters to me."

She kisses his sunburned shoulder then and, for some reason, it kind of takes the sting away.

* * *

He feels better in the morning, the burn already fading into a tan. He does kind of miss the way she practically accosts him with her body while they sleep because she was trying to be polite about the burn. So he scoots closer to her and curls around her. He slips his hand under the plain black t-shirt that he's pretty sure she stole out of his stuff.

"Honey," she whines, turning her head to look at him, "Your sunburn."

"All good," he replies, voice hoarse from sleep. He presses a kiss to her lips, reaching for her hand to pull it across his body. He knows she didn't sleep very well because she was trying to be cautious of hitting him. He says, "Pain is all gone. Get a little bit more sleep."

"Okay," she says, "But then I want to see you naked."

He laughs at that. He thinks about how their relationship has been a bit tumultuous at times. It's never necessarily been bad, but it's been hard - it's also been easy. His relationship with her is the easiest relationship he's ever had. He understands that it will take work, but he also knows that she will make it easy.

He tucks his hand beneath her hip and kisses her bare shoulder. Those 12 hours of not getting to touch her, after spending the last few weeks learning that he's allowed to and freely doing so, was basically torture. The younger him was a fucking idiot. He's sure about that.

* * *

He feels inexplicably close to her. He has always felt close to her, but it's substantially different now. He feels like maybe it's because he can freely open his heart to her. He has never had any trouble letting her in to specific parts of him, but he's struggled with exposing his intentions. And there's just something about getting to spend all of this time with her that makes him feel like he could be happy spending all of his time with her. He doesn't believe he could ever get tired of her.

He looks over at her, clad in only the sheet pulled up to cover her breasts, hair influenced by static. He watches her chest rise and fall, his doing the same, as they both try to recollect themselves. He has the sheet bunched at his waist, palms flat against the mattress. He sits upright, moving his hands to her ankles.

She flinches a little, like she wasn't expecting his touch, and looks up at him. Her eyes are sharply honed in on him and it makes him squirm a bit. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and lightly shakes her head. He glides his hands up her legs, pushing his fingers into the back of her knees to tug her legs more fully around him. He closes the space between them, his hands pushing further down her thighs.

With the sheet bunched in the small space between them, he feels more heat radiate in the space there. After their day of shopping and margaritas, they made it back to the hotel just in time to make it to their dinner reservation. There, he asked her to dance and she really let loose in a way that he'd never seen from her before.

They barely made it back to their room before he was jumping her. He's found himself touching her quite often, even if it is just holding her hand. He thinks they fit together well. He knows that this is it for him, this life with her is what he's supposed to have.

"Thank you for the new hand bag," she says with a sigh. She's finally caught her breath. He grins in response.

"Is that what that was?" He asks.

"You started that," she reminds him. He quirks an eyebrow, conceding. But only barely. She probably had just as much a hand in that as he did. In fact, he would probably argue that she started it. He just doesn't feel like pointing that out. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I was going to say," he says. His hands find her hips. His back cracks as he leans forward. She sits up, knees curled over his thighs now, and settles her hands on his shoulders. The sheet falls down around her waist and he can't help his eyes drifting down her front. He mutters, "You're so beautiful."

He feels her scoot closer, her legs wrapping more around him and her heels pushing into the muscles of his back. She squeezes his shoulder muscles. She says, "Oh yeah?"

"You're definitely the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he replies, "I can't believe I'll get to call you my wife."

"Oh please, I've been referring to you as my husband for years," she says. He feels himself recoil, taken aback by her proclamation. He purses his lips tightly and narrows his gaze. She pulls her hands towards her chest and begins to tick off as she says, "The bank, your dentist, your doctor, restaurants."

He's too busy staring at her breasts to really comprehend what she's saying. He laughs softly, as if on autopilot, and trickles his hands up her ribs. His thumbs sweep over her breasts just below her nipple, and she shivers beneath his hands. Her hands move to his face, cupping both of his cheeks.

"Do you see what time it is?" She asks. His eyes dart around the room in search of a clock and he sees that it's just after midnight. He nods his head and returns his gaze to her. She says, "Happy birthday, baby."

"Thanks," he says. A smile spreads across his mouth. She leans forward a bit and kisses him softly.

"I have something special planned for tomorrow," she says.

"Is it sex?" He asks, "Because that sounds like an awesome birthday present."

"It's not sex," she says, shaking her head, "You'll just have to wait and see."


	20. Tomorrow

He has no idea where they are going. She is really much better at surprises than he is because she can really so easily just figure everything out, if given the chance. Maybe he's just more patient than she is. Or she's nosier than he is.

The sun is in his eyes, even with his sunglasses, and the boat is moving extremely fast. He feels a little seasick after not spending all that much time on a boat. Meanwhile, his graceful fiancée seems like she's a pro at this. He makes a mental note to consider buying her a yacht. One day. Not right away.

He looks over at her, sunglasses gracing her face and hat covering her head, while she looks down at her phone. He's almost certain she can't be getting any service this far away from the main land so he has no idea what she's looking at on that thing. She has a tote bag with necessities, and her white bathing suit cover is thing enough to still show him her navy, two piece bathing suit. She looks up at him suddenly, like she knows he's been looking at her.

She smiles and leans into him. His eyebrows furrow as she lifts her phone into the air in front of their faces. She snaps a picture and looks at the screen. She quickly shakes her head. She says, "Smile, honey. This one is going on Facebook."

He pushes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her more into him. He feels her lips touch his cheek and he grins immediately. She snaps another picture and pulls the screen back in front of her face. She looks at it and smile widely, quickly flashing him the screen. He nods slowly.

"This is profile picture material," she tells him. He shrugs, not really understanding what that means. He shakes his head as she lifts her legs and drapes them across his lap. "I'm posting it as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"Where exactly are we going?" He finally asks. He's growing impatient and begins to squirm beneath her. He lifts his hands to her legs and rests them there. She smirks and shakes her head.

"We're almost there," she replies. She locks her phone and buries it into her tote bag with the rest of the items she brought. He feels her fingers clasp the front of his light blue t-shirt and tug him towards her. He quirks an eyebrow in amusement but follows her lead anyway, planting a kiss on her lips. "Just trust me, okay? This is a once in a lifetime experience."

"I do trust you," he says.

He looks at the front of the boat then and sees land in the distance. Her fingers slide down his front and brushes over his thigh as she turns away from him to grab her stuff. He watches as she slides her feet back into her flip flops. Just a few minutes pass before the boat begins to slow over the crystal blue waters. The wave of nausea passes through him again but he grits through it.

* * *

She took about 50 pictures of him with the dolphins. He' washalfway to tying her count when he dropped his phone into the ocean. He's grumpy because he had that one picture of her naked on his phone that isn't backed up anywhere, and now it's probably gone forever. She'd told him it was his one and only so he better make sure nothing happens to it.

With his phone now a paperweight, buried deep in her bag, he doesn't have anything else to connect him to the outside world other than her. Not to mention, this will be the second time he's had to replace his phone in the last two months. This time was an accident, but it's even more frustrating than the last time. He also scared off a dolphin when he pouted loudly.

Even though he lost his phone and everything on it, this birthday is still shaping up to be better than any of his previous ones. She was right about the once in a lifetime experience, swimming with dolphins and about a million pictures of the two of them together. When she said to put on sunscreen, he listened. He can be hardheaded, but he usually learns after the first time.

His swimming suit was dry by the time they got off of the boat, but he hasn't changed out of it yet. The salt from the ocean is still sticking to his skin. He's laying back on the mattress, trying to gather his strength back up. Swimming against the natural currents of the ocean wore him out, plus the sun. Although the heat here isn't too bad.

He shifts his gaze, tilting his head upward so he can look at her upside down. She's laying on her stomach across the bed, legs bent beneath her and feet in the air. She has her phone in one hand, finger periodically tapping against the screen with the other. A soft smile graces her mouth, while her sunglasses casually slips from her hair to her forehead. She is quite possibly the most adorable human being to ever exist.

"Look at this," she says.

She holds her phone over his face and for a moment he is terrified. All he can picture is her accidentally dropping the device directly onto his face. He holds his breath and lifts his hands to take the phone from her. He sharpens his gaze as he peers at the screen. He slowly realizes that he's looking at her Facebook page, pictures from their trip spread all across the small screen.

He taps on the square picture. It becomes larger on the screen, showing him the one they'd taken on the boat before they even got to the island. He hasn't shaved since they arrived and his beard is growing in thick. He wonders if it bothers her. He scrolls through her pictures, past profile pictures popping up. He hears a grumble fall out of his mouth in protest of her with some guy.

He looks over at her sharply when he hears her laughing. He says, "What?"

"Nothing," she replies with a shake of her head, "You just decided to look through my pictures."

"There's this guy," he admits.

"That guy is my brother," she says.

"I've met your brother," he says.

"Funny thing," she says with a smirk, "I have two brothers. I also have two sisters. Your first holiday at the Paulsen's is going to be fun."

"Kill me now," he mutters. He returns his gaze to the screen and keeps swiping, only stopping when he lands on the picture of her with him and Jessica and Louis. He smiles and closes her phone, rolling over onto his stomach and handing it back to her. "You had a picture of me."

"I have lots of pictures of you," she corrects, waving her phone. He rolls his eyes playfully. She drops the phone onto the bed and pushes it away from her. "But I don't think I want to put those on the internet."

He remembers that one picture again and he pouts at the loss of it. Maybe when they get back home, he can have Benjamin try to recover everything in his phone. He looks over at her and gives her a slight smile.

"You're upset about your phone," she says.

"I'm upset about what's on the phone," he corrects.

She scoots towards him and rests her forehead against his. He feels her lips against his cheekbone, her gentle touch landing on his back, and he feels reassured by the movement. She pulls back then, hand slipping beneath his hip and urging him to roll back onto his back. She moves over him, straddling his waist and letting her hands settle against his chest. Her bathing suit outline is more prominent through her cover up with her hovering above him, the sliver of sunlight left highlighting her just right.

"You get to see the real thing anyway," she reminds him. He furrows his eyebrows, confused. He didn't know that she even remembered. She adds, "Which is way better."

"You're right," he agrees.

"But, maybe Benjamin can recover the images when we get back," she says.

"You'd let Benjamin see that picture?" He teases.

"It isn't like he'd enjoy it," she reminds him.

"Right," he says. He suddenly remembers that Jonathan and Benjamin were hitting it off at the engagement party, if he remembers correctly. He had been a bit preoccupied that night. "Are he and Jonathan...?"

"Dating?" She finishes with a laugh. She shakes her head, her thumbs digging into his ribs. Her fingers spread out at his sides, the thin material of his t-shirt still too much to feel her touch. She says, "No. Jonathan isn't really the dating type. He likes to play the field."

"He hates me," he replies.

"Jonathan doesn't hate you. He just doesn't know you. People just have to know you to love you," she says, "What do you say we all get together for dinner so they can get to know you?"

"Anything for you," he says with a smile.

She nods, a shy smile stretching into the corners of her mouth. He sits upright and pushes a hand into her hair, the locks still damp and slightly unruly given the nature of the sea. He kisses her softly, briefly, because she's playfully stamping her palms against his chest.

"I'm gonna take a shower," she says, "Maybe you could join me, conserve water."

He nods quickly in agreement.

* * *

He feels a groan tumble out of his lips as the bed shifts, rousing him awake. He feels her hot breath against his chest as she rolls over to face him. Her hands push against his skin, one hand working around to his back as she slips her hand between his arm and his side. She kisses his chest softly.

"I'm sorry, baby," she mutters against his collar bone. She lifts her head and lightly kisses the corner of his mouth. He peels his eyes open to look at her. He doesn't say anything in response, just slips his fingers to the small of her back and pulls her closer. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's okay," he mumbles.

"Go back to sleep," she replies, slipping her foot between his calves.

He's tired, but now he just wants to lay in bed with her and think about the feeling of her in his arms. Her nails etch gently into his back, and he shudders. The unintentional movement turns him on a bit, prompts him to press his hips against hers. He offers her a half smile to tell her that he can't help it. She just shakes her head.

"Is everything okay?" He asks.

"Yeah," she says, "I was just thinking about you, us."

"Like what?" He asks.

"You're not going to like it," she admits. He sighs then, not really sure what she's getting at. Despite her awkward announcement, he tightens his embrace around her. He silently encourages her to tell him what's on her mind by pulling his hand from her back into the space between them to run it through her hair. "You don't really know my history and I don't want you to think I'm keeping something from you. I keep telling you not to worry about it, but I know you do."

He swallows a lump in his throat and slowly nods his head. He says, "I know I wasn't your first."

He hears a chortle escape her, her hand colliding with his chest. He follows the lead of the impact and leans back, his lips tugging up only in the slightest. She says, "I'm trying to be serious."

"Okay," he finally says, "Let's get into it. Lay it all out for me."

"There are some rules you have to follow when I tell you," she replies.

His eyebrows furrow and he says, "I can't agree to that."

"Come on, they're easy," she says, "You have to let me finish and you can't get mad."

He worries at the inside of his cheek for a moment before he finally nods his head. He watches her expel a breath like she's bracing herself for the aftermath of this conversation. He feels her fingers tap against his rib cage like she's tracing an outline of his bones.

"I've never been engaged or even lived with a man, but I've had two or three boyfriends meet my family," she admits. He laughs, fully rolling over onto his back. She follows him, edging her leg over his thighs. "One guy hated you."

"Me?"

"Because he was jealous of you. He was jealous that you made me laugh, made me angry, you were under my skin more than he could ever be and he knew it," she clarifies, "He's the one Louis was talking about that one time. He wanted me to quit my job, to get away from you, because he could just tell all you had to do was say you wanted to be with me and I would drop everything."

"I did want to," he tells her, "I was just scared."

She pushes her leg over him and straddles his waist. He feels her fingers spread over his stomach and slide up his torso. She leans down, her forehead close to his.

"I was scared, too," she replies, "My heart never fully committed to anyone because in the back of my mind I had hoped that one day we would be together."

"We were inevitable," he reminds her with a smirk.

She kisses him softly on the mouth. His lips part beneath hers. His hands come up her back, palms pressing there, until he delves one of his hands into her hair. He deepens the kiss, tongue flitting against her lip until she parts her lips in response. He feels her hand press against his chest again and a resistance against his hand.

"Wait," she mutters. He looks at her, confused. Her hands flatten against his chest. His eyes trail down the length of her. She definitely isn't making this very easy, given that they're both practically naked and she's on top of him. He swallows. She says, "I didn't even tell you anything."

"I don't really have to know," he says, "I'm in love with you and I believe that you're in love with me."

"I am in love with you. I've always been in love with you," she replies. He slides his fingers down her spine and lets his hands rest at her hips.

"I know you've broken a lot of hearts," he says, "Just don't break mine."

"I have not broken that many hearts," she replies. He watches her face pucker with annoyance, like he's just accused her of something. Her lips jut out like she's pondering what he said. She adds, "Do you not know by now that I would do anything for you?"

"Yes, of course," he says, "Let's just drop it, okay? I shouldn't have been concerned about some guy on your Facebook. I just don't want to lose you."

"You're the love of my life, and you're never going to lose me," she says. She lifts her left hand and wiggles her fingers. He grins in response. "And this little beauty means we're going to spend the rest of our lives together."

"Damn," he mutters, wrapping his arm around her waist and flipping them over. He settles between her thighs. Her hands squeeze at his biceps. "How did I get so lucky?"

"That's a very good question, Mister," she mutters.

He feels her hand slide over his arm until she cups his face. He closes the space between them and he gently places his lips on hers. He's really lucky she ever gave him another chance.

* * *

"I don't want to go home tomorrow," she says with a pout.

He looks over at her from his spot on the bed. She's wearing a red, two piece bathing suit and nothing else just yet. They're spending their last day in the Bahamas at the beach but every time he sees her in that bathing suit he really doesn't care about leaving the hotel room.

He sits upright and reaches for her hand as she passes. He tugs her towards him, parting his knees so he can catch her between them. Her hands land on his shoulders, a sad smile on her face. He wraps his arms around her, his hands settling on the curve of her ass.

"Reality will be good for us," he says with a shrug, "And you can show off that ring of yours."

"I've already set up interviews with all of the local news sources to let everyone know that you're off the market," she replies with a smug look, "I just feel like we've kind of been making up for lost time this week, and maybe things will be different when we leave our bubble."

"I don't know about you," he starts, "But I don't plan on changing my mind when we get home. I'll still want to marry you."

"Are you still going to move in with me?" She asks.

"We've kept the arguing to a minimum," he says.

She grins, her knees knocking against his. She says, "That's because we were too busy having sex to argue."

"We can argue later," he replies, "After I move in with you. And we can have sex after."

"You and me in my little apartment," she muses.

"Temporarily," he corrects.

"Of course," she says cheekily. He watches her lips for a moment as she considers the matter at hand. They twist coyly, her fingers traipsing their way into his hair. "Spending weekends marathoning The Good Wife."

"Star Trek," he corrects. She shakes her head gently. He knows she will win. She will get to watch The Good Wife and he'll get to distract her. He has, after all, spent the week better learning how to initiate sex. He's also learned that she's quite receptive and as insatiable as he is. "And we'll go to baseball games."

"Broadway," she says, "I'll wear a fancy dress and you'll wear a tux."

"Baseball," he corrects, tugging her more into his arms, "You'll wear whatever you want and we'll drink beer, kiss on the kiss cam."

"They do have those uniforms that show off all of the goods," she absently agrees. He smirks triumphantly. She leans down to kiss him then, her lips soft and warm and inviting. He loves her oh so much.


End file.
